


Suppressed

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_giftfest, Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: Auror Harry Potter is stumped when Adult Muggles suddenly develop magical abilities. Enter two very different Unspeakables – a swot who lacks experience, and an ill-tempered jerk who never learnt to play nicely with others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddenhibernian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenhibernian/gifts).



McGonagall peered over her glasses at the Minister for Magic who was seated on the opposite side of the desk. “And you’re absolutely certain that this cannot wait?”

“Minerva,” Kingsley said, soothingly. “I thought you understood my terms when we discussed this years ago?”

McGonagall’s face became so pinched, it was as if she’d inhaled a handful of grapefruit flavoured Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. “I understood your terms perfectly, Minister. I rather hoped that a change of mind might have been forthcoming given the circumstances.”

He paused, and then dismissed the three aurors stood behind his chair. There was a moment before the two imposing witches and the heavyset wizard nodded their assent and moved out of the study.

Kingsley leant forward, his chest almost touching the ornate desk, and lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Minerva, believe me when I say that it is not my mind that needs to be changed. My memory does not fail me.”

“You are the Minister, Kingsley! If you can’t do something then-”

“I must start proceedings. Then, and only then, I might be able to do something.” He glanced up at the ceiling, evading eye contact. “Minerva, it is far better that he come quietly – freely – and we make a deal, then if he attempts to evade justice.”

“You think lying in a coma is evading justice?”

“He’s no longer in a coma.”

“Indeed he’s not.” McGonagall made a show of checking the time. “As of seventeen hours, thirty eight minutes and fourteen seconds ago. Sorry. Sixteen seconds. Eighteen seconds. Twenty se-”

“Minerva.”

She glared at him, the full weight of her fury apparent in her gaze. Kingsley shifted in his seat. If he’d been a fifth year, he’d have been trembling before her – and even as Minister for Magic, he had to admit to feeling ever-so-slightly intimidated by the older witch’s ire.

“You may visit him.” She paused, and Kingsley sat back in relief. “You, Kingsley. You alone. Not those ridiculous aurors you’ve brought along for the journey.”

“Minerva, please.”

“No,” McGonagall’s voice was firm. “He’s hardly going to run, is he? You, and I, and Madam Pomfrey will be the only people present in the room.”

There was a long pause. Eventually, Kingsley spoke. “If that’s what it takes.”

“It is.”

Kingsley nodded his agreement, and with a casual flick of her wand, the fireplace in the Headmistress’s office roared to life. The pair stepped forward, each grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the mantel.

“And Kingsley?”

“Yes?”

“I must warn you, at the first sign of distress, the meeting will be terminated.”

* * *

A slender young man moved in staccato steps, fumbling his way forward across the courtroom floor. Each of his wrists were firmly gripped by a hooded, faceless creature. Unlike their charge, the dementors glided smoothly towards the chained chair in the centre of the room, and propelled him into it.

The young man looked up momentarily, and seemed cowed by the magnificent surroundings. Both dementors pressed firmly on his shoulders, forcing him into the seat. The dementors manoeuvred his arms to meet the arms of the chair, and suddenly, the chains glowed gold and bound him to the furniture.

Silently, the dementors glided back out of the room, and the heavy door swung shut behind them. The young man was completely still, ignoring the assembled witches and wizards, and staring at the floor.

“Severus Snape,” Crouch intoned. “You have been informed of the charges laid against you. How do you plead?”

Snape lifted his head, making no effort to flick his greasy hair from his face. “Guilty.”

“Guilty?” Crouch raised an eyebrow, and he leant backwards, his face full of merriment as he took in those around him. “Well, it seems we have a first in this court.”

“Objection!”

“Overruled!” Crouch’s response was curt. “Am I not correct in commenting that this Death Eater,” the words dripped with disdain, “is the first to admit his guilt before us?”

He was met with silence. Dumbledore, the objector, stayed on his feet but did not pass further comment.

“A guilty Death Eater. My, my.” Crouch tapped his fingers on the lectern before him. “And just what shall we do with you?”

“Sir, I-”

“The question was rhetorical,” Crouch said, a nasty smile spreading across his face. “I am sure that those of us assembled have a fair idea of what we could do with a wizard such as yourself.” A murmur of amusement reverberated around the room.

“Barty,” Dumbledore interrupted, “this is supposed to be an exploration of the facts, not an exercise in grandstanding. Severus has admitted his guilt-”

Crouch gave a small cough and shuffled the papers before him on the lectern. He continued as if Dumbledore had not spoken. “Severus Snape, you have pled guilty to the charges laid against you. It is therefore the chamber’s sole responsibility to pass sentence.”

“He may have pled guilty,” Dumbledore interrupted again, “but that does not mean his story should not be heard, Barty. I fear that you may ignore his words at your peril.”

Alastor Moody gave a harrumph of dissent, but Amelia Bones nodded in agreement. “Hear hear,” she called from the back row. “I say he should speak!”

Dumbledore smiled and nodded at Snape, who took a deep breath before trying again. “Sir…”

“Did I give you permission?” Crouch’s words were mocking, and a sneer adorned his face. “You, a self-confessed Death Eater, dare to speak uninvited in here? Before the Ministry?”

“Let him!” Dumbledore’s words echoed around the chamber, reducing the murmuring crowd to silence. “Severus?”

Immediately, Crouch was at his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor as he flung it back. “You, Dumbledore,” he said, viciously, “are not the Ministry spokesman in these matters. You do not have the authority to request that the prisoner has the ears of the chamber!”

“Sir?” Snape ventured.

“Silence!”

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at Crouch. “You owe this chamber.”

“I beg your pardon?

“You owe this chamber the right to hear Severus Snape’s testimony.” Dumbledore raised his voice above the excited hum of the assembled witches and wizards of the court. “He has declared himself a Death Eater, yes, but I can vouch that for the past fourteen months, Severus Snape has been a spy for the Order and he was integral to Volde-” Dumbledore paused at the intake of breath from those assembled. “…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s downfall.”

Snape shifted uncomfortably in his manacled chair.

“Is this true?”

Snape nodded.

Crouch looked distinctly unimpressed. “Perhaps you did not hear me, Mr Snape. I asked, is this true?”

“Yes, sir,” Snape replied, his voice small.

Aware that the chamber was at the edge of their seats, Crouch waved his hand in assent. “Continue.”

“I _was_ a Death Eater,” Snape said, his voice growing louder, as he realised the witches and wizards assembled before him were straining to hear his testimony. “I was young-”

Crouch sneered, and Snape quickly continued. “I was young, and I was stupid. I see that now. I know what a terrible mistake I made. I was lied to-” 

“You were _lied_ to,” Crouch jeered. “So it’s all someone else’s fault, is it?”

Snape blinked hard, tasking a moment to compose himself. “No. I was lied to, but I was all too willing to listen. I should’ve known better than to believe the promises that were made.” Snape glanced at Dumbledore who was nodding his encouragement. “I left school and in return for assistance with my Mastery placement-”

“What sort of assistance?” Crouch interrupted.

“Financial,” Snape said. “I was told that I earned my place on merit but…” Again, Snape took a deep breath, as if the tale was being forced from deep within him. “I see now that may not have been the truth. Maybe doors that would’ve remained closed to me were forcibly opened.” Snape looked pained. “I do not know for certain.”

“And what did you do in return for this financial assistance?”

“I was required to run errands. It seemed easy. At first, I was regarded as nothing more than a glorified post owl, taking messages here and there. Occasionally, I was asked to follow people. The requests came infrequently, and I was mostly left alone to achieve my Mastery.”

Crouch shuffled the papers before him. “And you achieved your Mastery last year, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“That was exceptionally quick,” Crouch sniffed.

Snape bristled, and sat straighter in his chair. “I was an exceptional student.”

“Severus.” Dumbledore’s tone carried a hint of warning.

“I was! And I worked hard! I admit, I was encouraged to expedite the process.”

“By whom?”

“The instruction came from those above.”

“I will repeat my question – by whom specifically?”

“I cannot say. Identities were hidden.”

Crouch sniffed. “You were encouraged to race through your placement so you could take your rightful place as a fully committed Death Eater?”

There was a brief pause, and then Snape nodded. “Yes. About half way through my Mastery, my Death Eater tasks became more frequent, and more difficult. Eavesdropping. Spying. Stalking.”

“And once you completed your studies, you found that you didn’t like being at his mercy, so you ran to Dumbledore at the first hint of trouble?”

“No!” Snape looked agitated, his hair swinging wildly. “I wasn’t scared. It just-” He closed his eyes. “What was being suggested wasn’t what I signed up for. What I thought being a Death Eater would be. And then it was too late - I had already been admitted into the Dark Lord’s ranks.”

“As I said,” Crouch’s voice boomed across the court. “You were out of your depth. You decided that you didn’t like his method, so you ran to Dumbledore?”

Crouch’s comments appeared to hit a nerve. Dumbledore stared evenly at Snape, whose jaw had tightened, and the pulse in his right temple had started to throb. When he continued, his voice was cool. “I contacted Professor Slughorn, my old housemaster, and begged him to put me into contact with Albus Dumbledore. I understood the risk I was taking, and was fully prepared to receive the consequences.”

“Consequences? You expected retribution from Dumbledore?” Crouch grinned maniacally, playing once more to the crowd. “That would be Albus ‘Second Chance’ Dumbledore, would it?”

“The Dark Lord has always been clear that desertion would be punished with death. If we weren’t caught and exposed by our own, then it was drilled into us that the Ministry would send us directly to Azkaban without considering our testimony, and Dumbledore…”

“And what of Dumbledore?”

Snape took a long, steadying breath. “Whenever a high profile target from your – _our_ – side was captured, we would be summoned. They would be tortured, in ever inventive ways. All of us were encouraged to take part, but the Dark Lord would lead the charge. The one constant was that the event was prolonged, and, without fail, the victim would always attest that they had witnessed Dumbledore punishing captured Death Eaters in a similar manner.”

Crouch scoffed. “And you believed this? You believed testimony from a victim in the throes of torture?”

“It was-” Snape looked anguished as he stared up at Dumbledore. “It was what we were told had happened to Regulus Black.” He stared around the room at the stricken faces who were hanging on his every word. “I was forced to watch – to participate, even – whilst witches and wizards were tortured to the brink of life. We were told that it was the reality of war, and that whatever the Dark Lord did, the Ministry and Dumbledore did worse.”

Unlike the rest of the chamber, Crouch did not look impressed. “If you were so terrified, why did you attempt to defect? If you were so sure that Dumbledore would torture you, and murder you, why did you arrange to meet him?”

“I had information that needed to be shared. I told him what I knew of the Dark Lord’s plans, of how terrible he truly was, of how fearful I was for the future. I offered an insight into the Death Eaters to enable Dumbledore, and the Order, a chance to defeat the Dark Lord.” Snape drew a deep breath. “I knew the mistakes I had made. I was fully prepared to receive whatever justice he decided to mete out.” 

“Are you genuinely suggesting that you were expecting him to murder you?” a female voice interrupted, an incredulous smile adorning the woman’s toad-like face.

The chamber was silent for a long minute. Eventually, Snape raised his head and met the woman’s gaze. “I did not expect to leave our meeting.”

“And yet you are here.” The woman sniffed, and turned to the wizard next to her. “Of course, had he thrown himself upon the doorstep of the Ministry, then things would’ve been very different.” Glancing at Dumbledore, and then at Snape, she pretended to lower her voice, but her words echoed loudly around the hushed courtroom. “And we wouldn’t be here, wasting time and money on a foolish court case with an obviously guilty, good-for-nothing wizard, would we?” She gave a tight smile, the implication in her words causing Snape to give an involuntary shudder.

Dumbledore stared at Crouch, steadfastly ignoring the woman. “And you still do not believe Severus when he says that he feared retribution from our side upon his defection?” Crouch shifted uncomfortably beneath Dumbledore’s piercing gaze.

“I am merely stating,” the woman continued, loudly, “that I simply cannot fathom why a reputable wizard of your standing would not have called the aurors for their assis-”

“If I had done so, then we all know that Severus would not be sat before the court now, Dolores,” Dumbledore interrupted, causing those assembled to look at him. “I cannot condone Severus’ behaviour prior to that night, but I respected the decision that Severus had taken in meeting me.” He twisted his beard in his hands. “Calling the aurors was certainly an option, but I found that I could not refuse the prospect of a willing spy within Vo-” The crowd winced, and Dumbledore waved his hand. “ _His_ ranks. I feared that the Ministry would’ve taken the easier option of incarcerating Severus, instead of utilising his position, which is why I did not involve them in my decision.” Dumbledore nodded at Snape, indicating he should continue.

Snape stared at Crouch as he spoke his final words. “I spied for fourteen months, revealing secrets that no other could’ve known. I believe I have paid my debt.”

“I implore you to read the parchment I submitted to the chamber earlier,” Dumbledore said, indicating to the crowd. There was a rustling as all of the witches and wizards assembled fumbled with the papers before them. “It details the specific information offered to myself by Severus Snape, and how we were able to use his information to directly affect the war.”

“Send him back.”

The movement was slight, but Snape caught it; Dumbledore’s jaw almost dropped. Snape screwed his eyes up tightly as the manacles disappeared, and he was gripped by the icy dementors once more.

“Barty-”

“The chamber needs time to consider, Dumbledore,” Crouch said, firmly. “We shall reconvene here, tomorrow, and discuss the plaintiff’s sentence. I remind you all that this is a closed courtroom, and this case must not be discussed outside these walls.” He stood, shuffling his own papers, and as he passed Dumbledore, he hissed in his ear. “There _will_ be a sentence, Dumbledore. We do not exonerate Death Eaters. Not even those teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

* * *

Minerva led Kingsley through Severus Snape’s private quarters in the dungeons, through his study, and towards his bed chamber. Kingsley frowned as he took in the surroundings – from his own school memories, he was certain that there should’ve been an exit door to the Potions classroom from the study, but it seemed as if someone – or perhaps even the castle itself – had bricked it up.

“When was he last in here?”

“He’s here now,” McGonagall said, stiffly. “He has been for many years.”

“No, I mean,” Kingsley pointed at the impeccable surrounds. “I know your house elves do a sterling job, but… When were these immaculate quarters last…fully utilised?”

McGonagall sniffed. “As far as I am aware, he last used these living quarters before he became Headmaster. When he gained that title, he had access to the Head’s quarters and rooms. I do not know if he returned to the dungeons at any point during that year.” She gave him a cold look. “We were hardly on speaking terms, you understand.”

She rapped sharply on the door to Snape’s bed chamber. The door swung open, and Poppy Pomfrey stepped through, the latch on the solid wood door clicking into place in her wake.

“Professor McGonagall. Minister.” She shook Kingsley’s hand firmly. “I must warn you, he really is not up to a long visit.”

“Madam Pomfrey, I shall be as concise as I can,” Kingsley assured her, and Minerva reached out to touch her hand in reassurance. After a long appraising look, Pomfrey nodded and moved away from the door.

McGonagall cast on the door, and it slowly swung open. Kingsley drew in a low breath at the sight of the emaciated figure propped up in the large bed.

“Kingsley, Minerva,” Snape drawled, his voice sounding thick and scratchy, and at odds to the melodious tones Kingsley recalled from the Order meetings he’d attended all those years ago. “I believe congratulations are in order?”

Kingsley gave a wry smile. “I doubt you’ll be saying that to me in a moment.”

Snape’s chest fluttered as he gave a weak cough. “I already know what you’re going to say, Minister.” A thin smile crept across his face. “I suppose murdering my jailer rather affects any claim I may wish to make about,” he paused momentarily. “How do the Muggles say it? Time off for good behaviour?”

To Snape’s surprise, Kingsley bellowed with laughter.

“Severus,” McGonagall warned. “You mustn’t talk like that. Murder indeed! We all know what happened between you and Dumbledore.” She turned to Kingsley. “That was not an admission.”

“Of course it’s an admission,” Snape rasped, his chest still fluttering. “It’s hardly a secret.”

“It was hardly murder, you impossible man,” she shot back.

“He’s not to be agitated,” Pomfrey hastily murmured at the two guests.

“I’m not agitating him,” McGonagall said, huffily. “I just don’t want testimony given in his weakened state to be used against him.”

Snape smirked, and slowly – seemingly with great effort – raised his wrists up and pressed them together. “Speaking of testimony, how long are you locking me away for?”

“Severus!” Both Pomfrey and McGonagall rebuked him at the same time, whilst Kingsley fought to keep the smile from his face. 

“Your original sentence was-”

“-eighty five years,” Snape interrupted. “I do recall.”

Pomfrey’s eyes widened. “Severus?” A quick glance at McGonagall’s stricken face revealed that this was also news to her.

“It’s true,” Kingsley agreed. “The Ministry agreed to release Severus into Dumbledore’s custody instead of sending him to Azkaban. The duration of the sentence was unaffected by the somewhat unusual arrangement.” He looked anguished. “Crouch was particularly vindictive with his sentencing following the first Wizarding War.”

“I would’ve been a free man in 2066,” Snape said, wistfully. “I will, of course, argue my case that I deserve credit for the years up until Dumbledore’s death. Do you know how many blasted essays I had to mark?” 

Kingsley smiled at the scrawny man in the bed whose own joke had caused him to have a coughing fit. It was hard to reconcile him as being the imposing figure who had once stalked the halls of Hogwarts, his robes billowing dramatically behind him and his legendary scowl firmly fixed in place. Now, he was barely more than skin and bone, his dark hair hanging long and limp to his chest. He was clad in an aging long sleeved Slytherin t-shirt. Kingsley wouldn’t have sworn to it on the stand, but he thought it looked as if it came from Snape’s old schooldays. It wouldn’t have fit the man a few years back, but it was positively oversized on his now emaciated frame. He idly wondered where it had been found. Snape’s lower half was fully covered by the thick blankets on the bed which were loosely tucked around his waist.

Snape gave a final hacking cough, waving away Pomfrey’s offer of water, and eventually continued. “Still, even with credit for those years, I rather suppose that all of the ones I’ve spent wasting away in here have to be discarded entirely?” He gave a small laugh. “I should ask - what are you offering for murder these days? I do hope it’s not a whole life term. I had a special 2066 countdown calendar made back in 1981, and I don’t think I can afford to add many pages to it. I’ve not been earning of late, you see.”

“Severus, this really isn’t what you need to be thinking about,” Pomfrey warned, placing one of her warm hands over his twitching fingers. She shot an angry look at McGonagall and Shacklebolt. “Really, could this not have waited? He hasn’t even been awake for 24 hours.”

Snape lowered his wrists, and closed his eyes, his thin chest moving up and down rapidly. “Indeed. Please, forgive me, Minister, but it has been a rather long day. I’m really not accustomed to such excitement. I don’t think I had as many as three friendly visitors in the whole time that I was Headmaster.”

McGonagall looked aghast, his words cutting her to the quick, as Pomfrey ushered both her and Kingsley away from the bed. 

“Yes, I think that’s quite enough,” Pomfrey said. She lowered her voice as she pulled open the door. “If I believe Severus has suffered no adverse effects from this meeting, you may return in the next few days. But only if he is well enough.”

“Minister?” Snape called the figure back, but his voice was noticeably weaker than before.

Kingsley turned. “Yes, Severus?”

“Poppy has kindly filled me in on the fate of a good many of our comrades. But tell me, what happened to our old friend, Dolores Umbridge?”

Again, Kingsley found himself suppressing a grin. “Azkaban. For life.”

A small contented smile flickered across Snape’s features. “Oh, and Minister? There’s just one more thing.”

“Yes, Severus?”

“You couldn’t possibly arrange for my sentence to be completed at Nurmengard, could you?”

* * *

Ginny flung her arms around Hermione. “That is brilliant news!”

“Just five to go?” Ron grinned at Harry as he raised his glass. “Overachiever – as always!”

“We expected nothing less,” Harry agreed, but as Hermione headed over to the kitchen table to get her own drink, he caught her wrist, turning her to face him. “But you are ok, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!”

“It’s just…”

Ron immediately flanked Harry. “We know what the Ministry can be like.”

“You saw how they treated Percy.”

“And Dad.”

“And me,” Harry finished.

“Honestly,” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m fine. More than fine. I’m terrific. Well, I will be, when you let me get a drink.”

“Yes, stop giving her the third degree.” Ginny patted Harry’s arm, and he dropped his grip on Hermione. “If you say you’re fine, Hermione, that’s good enough for me. So with just five to go, what’ve you got left?”

Hermione poured a generous measure into her glass as she answered. “Well, I know I just said five, but I guess it’s still six, technically. I’ve got a final week at the Improper Use of Magic Office before I’m formally signed off – today was just confirmation that I’d passed the exam. Next, there’s a year-long stretch at the Department of Magical Transportation. Then there’s the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Department of Magical Education, a brief stint in the Auror Office which encompasses a secondment to St Mungos, and finally it’s the big one - an intensive look at the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry sucked some air in through his teeth. “Eesh, how long is the Mysteries’ placement?”

Hermione shrugged. “Asking around, it sounds like it’ll be at least three years. Apparently, Bode apprenticed there for nine.”

“Nine years?” Ron exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Hermione, it’s supposed to be a fast-track, isn’t it?”

“She didn’t say her placement would be nine years. Just that Bode’s was.” Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother. “It could be far shorter.”

“Or way longer! Each branch of it is practically its own department in a department,” Ron said. “Gives me the creeps that place. I avoid that floor at all costs.”

Harry looked solemn. “Will you have to go into the Death Chamber?”

Hermione nodded. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s unlikely that they’d omit it. Like Ron says, there’s just so much that an Unspeakable does. I know they specialise, but that’s the point of being fast-tracked – you’re supposed to experience everything.”

“And then what? Does Kingsley hand over the keys?”

Hermione laughed. “As if I’ve won a competition? ‘Here you go, Hermione – the Ministry is yours’?” She shook her head. “No, I think Kingsley will be Minister for Magic for a long time to come.”

“So what’s the point in being fast-tracked then?”

“The point, Ron,” Ginny interjected, “is that when a position is vacated, Hermione will be able to apply and she’ll have all of the skills and experience required, even though she’s only been with the Ministry for a relatively short amount of time.”

“Yeah,” Harry drained his glass. “Obviously we all want Kingsley to stick around, but who knows what could happen? Look at Fudge’s fall from grace.”

“Harry!”

“Well, it’s true,” he said, grabbing another drink. “None of us saw that coming. Well, not quite in the way it happened.” He shrugged as he flicked the bottle cap off with a silent spell. “Of course I want Kingsley to stay, but who knows, he might marry and retire for a quiet life on a desert island.”

“And then Hermione is next in line,” Ginny agreed.

“To marry Kingsley?”

Hermione thumped Ron on the shoulder. “Absolutely not! And no, Ginny, I wouldn’t quite say that. There’s a few of us on the same course. I’d be happy to lead any department. I don’t necessarily have my eyes set on Minister.”

“You should,” Ron grinned. “You’re bloody marvellous, Hermione.” He raised his glass again. “Here’s to Hermione’s imminent success at the Ministry!”

“Hear, hear!”

* * *

It could’ve been worse.

It _really_ could’ve been a whole lot worse.

He wasn’t in Azkaban. He certainly wasn’t in Nurmengard. Or even Hogwarts, for that matter. Neither was he a free man, but still, a career as an Unspeakable – finally with the freedom to come and go as he pleased – was definitely a marked improvement. 

Admittedly, the post didn’t come with the honour, respect or prestige that his previous title of Headmaster had commanded, but then, on reflection, he couldn’t quite recall receiving any honour, or respect, or prestige when he had held the position. On the contrary, he rather recalled the entire stint as a year-long trial of being despised by all of those around him. Which, in fairness, was a role that Snape felt he’d been in training for his entire life.

Still, it had been a horrible year, and Snape had to admit, when he’d felt his life ebbing away on the cold floor of the shack, he hadn’t been entirely disappointed to think that he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of what he’d been part of. Not that he was a coward – he could face the Ministry and he could face Azkaban, but he hated to think of how his deception would’ve affected the people who he had come to respect over the years, no matter which side of the war they fell on. 

To his surprise, most of those he’d feared dead were still living, and although the Ministry instantly requested that he be sent to trial for his war crimes, Snape couldn’t honestly say that he cared. Potter had won, and the Dark Lord had been vanquished. The rest, in all honesty, was white noise.

Still, Kingsley had kept his word to McGonagall and displayed true stoicism in the face of uncertainty from the Wizengamot. In fact, he’d championed Snape’s cause to a degree that Snape almost found embarrassing. It was fortunate that for the first few weeks of his trial, Snape had been too weak to do anything more than arrive in the courtroom – thankfully, this time, not ushered to his seat by dementors but by sympathetic aurors – be manacled into that damned chair, and confirm his name.

The case dragged on, but his appearance in the courtroom had been brief. His ailing health meant that he had been excused whilst witnesses gave their evidence, so he’d followed the case via a magical mirror from his bed in the dungeons. Kingsley, McGonagall, Dumbledore’s portrait, and a line of Weasleys so long he could barely tell them apart, all spun a tale to the court of bravery and sorrow so moving that even Snape himself found it hard to completely reconcile with his own experiences - but he had to acknowledge that his true champion came in the form of Harry James Potter.

If he hadn’t already drawn the conclusion that Harry was much more like his mother than his father, despite his physical appearance, then the court case would’ve settled the matter. Snape watched as the young auror took the stand, and berated the magical community for their efforts in bringing Snape to trial. He’d seen Lily’s streak of anger at perceived injustice many a time, but it was somewhat reassuring to witness the same in her son; Dumbledore had been right all along – Harry may have looked like James, but he really was Lily’s boy in nature.

But amazingly, it wasn’t just Harry. The teens who had comprised Dumbledore’s Army: Weasley and Granger, of course, Luna Lovegood, yet another Weasley in the form of Ginny, and even – to his utmost shock – Longbottom, all took the stand behind Harry and gave very similar testimony. As a consequence, when Snape was finally summoned to the chamber to receive his sentence, he was somewhat stunned to find himself pardoned of virtually all charges.

Yet again, it was his own guilty plea which had condemned him. The only charge that was considered was his own admission that he had returned to Voldemort’s side, and he had undertaken duties expected of him as a Death Eater. Kingsley had argued for hours to ensure that his original – and frankly, ridiculous – sentence from 1981 should be discharged, determining that Snape’s efforts under Dumbledore’s instruction as a spy had countered his original admission of being a genuine Death Eater. 

Kingsley had also implored the court to take a compassionate approach given Snape’s serious injuries sustained in the line of duty, and for the long years he’d spent in a comatose state – and then, as he concluded, he reminded the court that Snape’s admission that he was a Death Eater should be taken in the context of him having returned to Voldemort’s side merely as a method of infiltrating the Death Eaters on Dumbledore’s explicit instruction. 

So, as Snape had heaved himself to his feet, and braced himself for his final sentence, he wasn’t sure what to expect. A few years in Azkaban, perhaps – uncomfortable and undesirable, but since the dementors had departed, certainly not unbearable. He was stunned at the pronouncement that he was to serve the Ministry for fifteen years as an Unspeakable – and the sentence was only to commence once Snape was back to a reasonably healthy state.

His recuperation period took another seventeen and a half months. Under Pomfrey’s strict care, he soon settled into a rhythm where he was successfully eating, washing and dressing without assistance. He rapidly gained weight until he was healthier in appearance than he’d ever been as an adult or child; slightly sturdier in stature, with clean hair and well, if not a hearty complexion, certainly not the sallow, yellow, sickly skin tone of his teaching years. Gone were the days of living on his nerves, and only consuming coffee for breakfast and lunch - Pomfrey’s mothering ensured that he ate three meals a day, full of high quality meats, oily fish, and copious amounts of vegetables. 

Before the year was out, he’d managed to return to his cauldron, and under licence from St Mungo’s, he brewed his own prescription: a daily anti-venin, a gargle for his strained larynx, a set of varying strength painkillers, and an array of numbing and soothing pastes to aid with the residual pain. He aimed to keep a batch in stock, as on very cold days, he found that a slight tremor was apparent in his left hand. After one particularly nasty explosion, he realised that shaking was simply not conducive to brewing. 

It explained a lot about the Longbottom boy.

Physically, he could’ve left Hogwarts and entered the Ministry several months sooner. Mentally, he simply wasn’t close. The first time he left the sanctuary of the school and headed for Hogsmeade, he found himself surrounded by photographers and reporters, their shouts filling the streets, and their lightbulbs flashing in his face. In a panic, he’d Apparated back to the river in Cokeworth, and he stood, shell shocked, for over half an hour, knee deep in cold, dirty water. 

Harry was one of the aurors dispatched to retrieve him.

Snape didn’t venture out again for weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione slammed the door. She tugged her sparkly heels off and flung them across the kitchen floor, her tight dress riding up her thighs as she moved. She wasn’t the most confident of all of the witches that she knew – her figure was fine, if a little bottom heavy – and her hair still gave her terrible trouble on humid days, but her skin was always clear, her teeth straight and her makeup impeccable. Tonight, for once, she had been sure of herself when she’d headed out. 

She had never worn such a tightly fitting dress before, nor such an expensive one, which was only outclassed by her even more expensive underwear. She’d bought them at Ginny’s insistence that not only was a matching set was paramount for self-belief when entering a room full of powerful witches and wizards, but the sculpting element of the garments would work to make her dress even more striking. As always, Ginny had been right.

Hermione strode towards the living room, and with practiced skill, flicked her fingers. In her wake, a kitchen cupboard door swung open, and a wine glass danced its way across the worktop. Another flick of her wrist saw a half empty bottle of wine emerge from the fridge, and two simple hand movements later saw the full glass safely in Hermione’s hand without her breaking stride. She sank onto the sofa in the living room and as she untied her hair, she exhaled loudly. 

The central heating had been on high all day, and it was stuffy in her flat. Hermione flicked her wand towards the living room window, cracking it open slightly to let in some cool air. She briefly closed her eyes, concentrated on a memory held deep within her heart, and then exhaled as her patronus rushed off through the night, on a mission to let Ginny know that she’d arrived home safely – albeit alone. Again. 

Half an hour later, Hermione cast again, steadily levitating the almost empty bottle of wine out of the kitchen and over to the coffee table next to her. She was mid-pour when Ginny burst through the fireplace, almost causing her to spill her drink. 

Ginny brushed soot off her robes, and raised her hand, wandlessly and wordlessly causing a second glass to speed into her open palm. “Me too,” she requested, placing the glass down next to Hermione’s as she joined her on the sofa. With another flick of Hermione’s fingers, the wine bottle refilled and Hermione decanted a generous measure into Ginny’s glass.

“I didn’t mean for you to drop everything and come over. What about the boys?”

“Harry’s home,” Ginny said, taking the offered glass and sipping the wine. “I told him this was an emergency.”

“It’s hardly an emergency.”

“No?”

Hermione groaned and ran her hands through her hair. “How am I going to face him at work next week?” She grimaced. “I thought he liked me.”

“It sounded like he did.”

“He laughed, Ginny! I suggested that we take ourselves somewhere we could be alone, and he actually laughed!”

Ginny winced. “Maybe he was just surprised?”

“Why would he be surprised? He’s been flirting with me all week!”

“…or he hasn’t. Urquhart was Slytherin’s Quidditch captain, remember? They’ve all been trolls and thugs.” She shrugged. “I reckon he’s as brain dead as Flint and Montague were. He’s probably never had anyone flirt with him before. You caught him off guard, that’s all.”

“Caught him off guard?” Hermione took a long drink from her glass, and then promptly cast to re-fill it. “Caught him off guard? Am I that hideous a prospect that someone needs a few weeks to mentally prepare fo-”

“Hermione, you’re being ridiculous. You were gorgeous tonight. You always are!”

“You think he’s a troll, and ugly old me still can’t get a date with him.”

“You’re not ugly or old, and I’d say Urquhart was more of a thug than a troll. After all, you wouldn’t have been interested in him if he was a troll, hey?” Ginny caught Hermione’s look and instantly put her hand out to stop Hermione from lifting the glass to her lips again. “Hermione, what’s this rea-” As soon as she started to speak, her eyes widened. “It’s Ron, isn’t it?” 

“No.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Fine!” Hermione snapped, pulling her glass out of Ginny’s reach and taking another sip of her wine. “Fine, yes, it was awkward seeing Ron with Katrina. It was so difficult at Christmas, and I just couldn’t face another year with the rest of you all paired up, and me stuck on the shelf-”

“You’re not on the shelf.”

“-getting dusty-”

Ginny picked her own glass back up. “Look, Miss Pity Party, you’ve been focused on different things. Your career has better prospects than the rest of us put together!”

“That’s not true. Harry’s an auror. You’re a Quidditch star. Neville’s a professor. Ron’s…” Hermione bit her lip. “And Ron’s perfectly happy.” 

“Ron runs a joke shop. It wasn’t exactly his dream – he’s just stepped into Fred’s shoes because George needs him to,” Ginny said, soothingly. “Harry can’t go any higher in the Ministry because he isn’t organised enough to fill in his paperwork, and just wants to run around chasing bad guys. Neville’s languishing at Hogwarts. And I’m over the hill!”

“Neville’s not languishing, and you’re not over the hill! You’re writing for the Prophet!” 

Ginny shook her head. “I won’t pretend that we’re unhappy with our chosen careers, Hermione, but can’t you see the difference between us? We’ve all gone as far as we’re likely to go. With you, you’re only just getting started – and believe me, you will be Minister one day.”

“I won’t. I’ve just ruined it all.”

“You think your glittering career is over because you made a clumsy pass at your colleague? Hermione, people make passes at their colleagues all of the time. You’ll work past it.”

Hermione hid her face behind her hands and gave a sob. “We won’t. I can’t.”

“Hermione?” Ginny gently tugged at Hermione’s arm, alarmed at her friend’s sudden distress. “What really happened tonight?”

Eventually, Hermione lowered her hands. “He called me…” Hermione screwed her face up tightly, as if the words physically pained her. “He called me a Mudblood.”

* * *

“No.”

“Severus-”

“No!”

“Severus, I’m afraid this isn’t up for discussion-”

“I do not wish to have an apprentice working alongside me. It is tiresome enough to have another fully fledged Unspeakable attached to this department. I do not want to have a dunderhead of great magnitude getting in the way and ruining my work.”

“It wouldn’t be an apprentice, it would be a new Unspeakable who was-”

“No! No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. No, no and in case of any uncertainty: no.”

* * *

“Breathe, Hermione,” Harry said, grabbing the wastepaper bin from the corner of the office and thrusting it beneath her chin.

“Oh yuck,” she said, pushing it away. “Thanks, but whatever that is in there,” she wrinkled her nose, “is making me feel worse.”

Harry peered into the bin. “I think it’s a mouldy sandwich.” He poked his wand around in the contents of the bin. “Two, three, wait. Four mouldy sandwiches?” He looked up accusingly. “Have you not been eating this week?” 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to eat? But you feel sick?” He paused, and looked at her thoughtfully. “Hermione, you’re not… You know?” He waved his hand in the vicinity of his stomach.

“Harry! No, definitely not!” 

“Right,” he said, pulling a chair up opposite her desk, and sitting in it. “So, if that’s a no, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to play ‘Auror Investigates’?” He grinned, wickedly. “Just to warn you, I’m pretty good. I get a lot of practice, and as the cells in Azkaban will attest - I always win.”

Hermione gave a sickly smile at his teasing and pushed the open envelope on her desk towards him. 

Harry quickly scanned the contents and looked up in horror. “Wait. You’re the one being re-assigned? Why? He’s the one who called you a-”

“-keep reading.”

Seconds ticked past as Harry made his way through the letter. Abruptly, he stood. “This is lie after lie! I’m taking this to Kingsley. I’ve never read anything so outrageous.”

Hermione was on her feet just as quickly, and pulled him back. “Don’t, Harry. You’ll just make it worse.” She waved at him to sit back down, as she sank into her own office chair. “I was close to being signed off in the Brain Room anyway. I’ll just take a sideways move for a few weeks, complete my exams when Urquhart is on holiday, and then I’ll return back to my new partner.” She gave a watery smile. “Simple.”

Harry sat back down, his left foot tapping against the floor. “And who is the lucky Unspeakable to be partnering Hermione Granger now that Urquhart has revealed himself to be the brainless Slytherin fool we all knew he was? Kirklees? Trenter? No, wait, is it Martha Johnson? She’s great! I worked with her on the Malfoy case. You’ll like her.”

“No. Turn the page.”

Harry flipped the paper over in his hands, and snorted loudly. “You’ve heard the rumours about him, right?”

“Heard them? I’ve witnessed Snape yelling at him in the corridor because he disturbed him with his snoring.” Hermione gave a quiet laugh. “Which somewhat ironically disturbed the rest of the floor.” 

“Croaker’s all right though, isn’t he? I mean, when he’s not asleep?”

“Oh yeah. He’s getting on a bit, so it’s no wonder he sleeps a lot. When he’s awake, he’s always wandering through our room for a moan about Snape.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

“You can say it out loud, Harry.”

Harry grimaced. “I feel disloyal after everything he did in the war.”

“It’s hardly news. Snape’s the laziest Unspeakable in the whole department.”

“The war took its toll on him.”

Hermione snorted. “Croaker’s always whining about him and how he ruins their performance metrics. Snape’s efforts must be terrible if he’s the one dragging them down, considering that Croaker spends at least 60% of the working day asleep!” Hermione took the letter back off Harry and stuffed it into the envelope. “You wouldn’t have picked it, would you? He always seemed so focused at school. Remember his essay marking?”

Harry laughed loudly. “I wish he’d been lazier about that! The swathes of red ink across my parchment. It looked like he’d bled all over it!” He snorted. “Sometimes I wished he had. Prayed that we’d get into the dungeons and he’d had to take a sick day – a week, even!”

“He was never sick back then, was he?” Hermione mused.

“No, worse luck.” Harry suddenly looked guilty. “I guess you’re going to say he’s off quite a bit now?”

“I’ve heard so,” she nodded. “But then, he was pretty ill after the war.”

Harry placed his hands on Hermione’s desk, pushed himself up. “Which is why it’s rotten of us to be slating him behind his back,” he said, quietly. “He’s just-”

“-hard to like?”

“You know, he sits opposite me at lunch every single day. Never says a word. Just eyeballs me the whole time.”

“Why would he do that?”

Harry shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in his head?” He gripped the door handle. “I’ve got to be honest, I liked him much more when he was in a coma.”

“Harry!” Hermione admonished, trying not to giggle, as he strode out down the corridor with a broad grin.

She took a deep breath and collected her things. One more shift with the prat Urquhart, and then it was onto new beginnings with Croaker. She straightened, and walked a bit taller. Croaker might suffer from narcolepsy, but he was experienced, and she could learn a lot from him – when he wasn’t snoring, anyway.

* * *

Hermione chased Kingsley down the corridor. “Minister! Minister! I think there’s been a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake, Hermione,” Kingsley replied, not breaking stride. 

“No, I’m supposed to be with Croaker,” she said, brandishing her letter. “Croaker, see?”

Kingsley spun on his heel, and grabbed the letter, scanning it quickly. “I apologise. There has been a mistake.”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Great, so I’ll move my things over to the Inventions Room and meet Croaker there?”

Kingsley folded the letter and gave it back to Hermione. “It’s an administrative error, Hermione. I apologise. You’ll be taking your belongings to the Inventions Room, but as you were informed this morning, you’ll be working with Severus Snape.”

“Minis-”

“No more,” Kingsley said, sharply. “I’ve already heard an earful from Severus, and I’ll only tell you exactly what I told him.”

“What’s that?”

“You brought this on yourself. Now get on with it.”

* * *

Hermione stepped into the Inventions Room, her arms full of her shrunken files. The room was darker than strictly necessary, as Snape had closed all of the blinds in the room. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she dropped her things on the empty desk by the door.

“Hello?”

There was no reply, but a scrape of a chair across tiles told her that Snape was somewhere in the vicinity. His footsteps were measured, and then he appeared under an archway at the far side of the room.

“What?”

“I thought…” she faltered at his severe scowl. “I thought we should discuss our goals for the department.”

His scowl morphed into a look of incredulity. “Do whatever you want. Leave me alone.” He turned and disappeared.

Hermione dropped her files with a clatter and chased him to the archway. “Snape!”

He was back in an instant, reaching up with both hands to touch the top of the arch, lazily blocking Hermione’s view through to his side of the room. Snape wasn’t quite as tall as Hermione had believed him to be from when she was a child, nor was he as lean and lithe as she recalled. Happily, neither was he the skeletal figure she remembered from his court appearance several years earlier.

Despite his increased weight, he was still trim – merely more solid. Unlike his schooldays, he didn’t look as if a stiff breeze might carry him away. Admittedly, his shoulders would never be broad - severe malnutrition in his early years had left him with a slender bone structure - but he was much thicker in both arms and chest.

His self-assured stance was much the same, and confidence exuded from him. He no longer required his voluminous robes to manufacture a presence; instead, he was comfortable in just his tailored black trousers, and his sharply pressed white shirt. His posture meant that his open collar was skewed, and Hermione quickly averted her gaze once she saw the swathe of violent scarlet strokes which marred his collarbone and neck. The contrast of his deep scars to his alabaster skin was so stark as to be horrifying, and she hoped he hadn’t registered her involuntary flinch. 

The slight weight gain also showed in his face, his cheekbones no longer quite as angular and prominent as they had been in his youth. His cheeks weren’t the sickly colour they’d been at Hogwarts, although he remained pale – it seemed that his natural skin colour hadn’t been impacted by his years lurking in a dungeon in deepest Scotland; he’d naturally been a little wan.

Of all his features, one was unmistakeable - his nose remained hawkish. His ever-so-slightly fuller face caused the large hook to be rather more in proportion – if anyone could claim such a thing was possible – than it had ever been in the past.

None of these observations were of comfort to Hermione, as he leant down, menacingly invading her space. “What now?” he hissed.

Hermione took an unsteady step backwards, but her voice was confident. “You can’t just hide in there. We’re supposed to be working together.”

He gave her a thin smile. “No.”

“Yes!” Hermione strode back to her desk, waved her hands over the files and rifled through her papers until she found the objects she was looking for. She thrust a parchment at Snape, who kept his hands on the archway.

“And?”

“Take it!”

“I don’t want it,” he sneered. “I don’t care what it is. I don’t care what it says.”

“It says, that as part of my fast track-”

Snape snorted loudly. 

Hermione ignored him, and pressed on, “-my fast track experience through the Ministry, I am to work alongside the Unspeakable assigned to the Inventions Room of the Department of Mysteries for a year. We are to create a solution to one of the outstanding problems outlined in the handbook…” She brandished the handbook in her opposite hand. 

Snape rolled his eyes. “I’ve worked in here for years. I’ve already seen the handbook.”

“So? What are we working on?”

“ _We_ ,” he enunciated, as if he was speaking to a particularly imbecilic child, “are not working on anything. _I_ work alone. _You_ ,” he took one of his hands off the archway and waved it at her, “can do whatever you want in that room, as long as you do not pester me. No interfering. No hand-waving. And absolutely no questions.”

With that, he cast a spell across the archway which created a door. No matter how much Hermione called his name, or beat her fists against the wood, he didn’t reappear for the rest of the day.

* * *

For the first month, Hermione respected Snape’s wishes. She didn’t attempt to ask him any questions, nor did she so much as knock on the door that separated their work areas. She even totally ignored the fact that she was supposed to be selecting a task from the department handbook to work on, and instead, studied for her upcoming Brain Department examinations.

The only time she saw Snape was at lunch – and even that was from several tables away. In her previous roles, she’d never bothered to join the hordes in the cafeteria, preferring to eat at her desk, but given that she was now working in utter silence and didn’t see a single soul all day long, she decided to forgo her homemade sandwiches and head to the canteen in the hope of a bit of company.

“Thank Merlin,” Harry beamed when Hermione placed a heaped plate of lasagne in front of him. 

“It’s only lasagne.”

Harry nodded towards Snape who was scowling over the other side of the room. “Ever since you’ve started eating lunch with me, Snape’s retreated.” He picked his fork up and dug in hungrily. “Honestly, I was trying not to mind, but he was putting me off my lunch.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, stabbing her lunch viciously. “He’ll be avoiding you because he’s avoiding me.”

“What’ve you done? Blown up his cauldron?”

“Chance’d be a fine thing!” Hermione said. “He won’t even tell me what he’s working on.” 

“Thought you were supposed to be working together?”

“We are, but you know what he gets like. He seems to have decided that instead of us turning in a joint project from the handbook-”

“Handbook?”

Hermione nodded. “There’s a long list of projects in there which we can choose to work on. They deal with all sorts of issues, but they’re quite involved, with several strands of research and development to each project. So it might seem as if we’re working on something that deals with,” she waved her hand, “I don’t know…choose something.”

“Nifflers,” Harry said, between mouthfuls.

“Ok, so the project is on Nifflers, but our research and development means that we’ll also find out things that resolve problems with Hippogriffs, Manticores, Kneazles, Pygmy Puffs and,” she grinned mischievously, “Nargles.”

Harry snorted. “I get it – so whatever your project seems to be, it’ll be much more widely applicable than the original purpose? Makes sense. So what’s with Snape?”

“He’s decided that instead of us working together, he’ll do a project from the handbook, and I’ll do a project from the handbook.”

“Is that wise?”

“Harry, does it look like I have a choice in the matter?”

Harry looked abashed. “Sorry. So what are you working on, or is it top secret?”

“Well, yes, it’s top secret – I work for the Department of Mysteries, Harry. The clue is in the title,” she gave him a quick grin. 

“Definitely Nargles then,” he said, between chews. “Seriously though, this is my biggest lament about the Ministry. Not really your department, because I get the need for secrecy with what you do, but take this for example - I’m still working on the Muggle case-”

“Was that the one with Muggle adults suddenly developing magic?”

“Yes, and I’m getting nowhere. I decided to go back to the start with it, so I was re-reading the papers last week, and the communication between departments is ridiculous. There’s barely anything in the memos, and what is there, it’s redacted.”

“Will they give you much longer on the case?”

Harry shrugged. “They say as long as it takes, but I know they don’t mean it. I keep being told that I must focus on finding the perpetrator. It’s so short-sighted – we need to be looking at why it’s happening, and what method-”

“Establishing whether it’s a curse or a potion?”

“Exactly. How is it even possible?” He screwed his face up in thought. “It’s got to be a new invention, else Pureblood parents would’ve used it on their Squibs.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe we just didn’t hear about it. Maybe only the sacred 28 still have the secret? You know what Purebloods are like for keeping their cards close to their chests. Could you ask Molly and Arthur if they remember anything like that happening in their family?”

“Do you think they’d know? I mean, I know they’re Purebloods but they’re,” he lowered his voice, “ _good_.” 

Hermione suppressed a giggle. “You mean a Malfoy might be more use?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, “And I don’t mean Draco. Think about it - if any wizard was going to utilise such dark magic to ensure his sole Squib son was magical, it’d be Lucius.”

“You don’t really think that Draco was a Squib?”

“No…” Harry looked thoughtful. “I… No. No, I don’t think he’s a Squib. Or was a Squib. But I do think that Lucius would’ve made sure he knew what to do if the worst had happened.”

“Admit it, you just want an excuse to land on his doorstep unannounced and interrogate him until he squirms.”

“Everyone likes a bit of sport on a Wednesday afternoon,” Harry grinned and then his face fell again. “I guess, the bottom line is that the hows or the whys don’t really matter to my department. All the aurors need to do is find the person responsible, and stop them. Simple as that.”

“It’s frustrating though,” Hermione agreed. “As you’ve said, if you work out the how or the why, it might lead you to who.” She winced as she heard the clock bell chime out, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Snape hurrying from the canteen. “Sorry, that’s me done. I need to head back and hit the books.” 

“Research for your top secret efforts?”

“No.” She lowered her voice as she collected her things. “Truth be told, I’ve not started yet. After Snape threw his tantrum, I decided it’d be more prudent to concentrate on my upcoming exams.” 

“Snape’s giving you exams already? I thought he’d retired his mean old Professor Snape persona when he left Hogwarts?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, not Snape. I left the Brain Department suddenly, but I’ve still got the exams to sit.”

Harry carefully scraped his plate clean and then set down his cutlery. “Hermione, the exams were last week. All eligible candidates took them in the secondary chamber. I was one of the aurors who invigilated. I thought you knew you’d been excluded?”

Hermione went very quiet, and eventually, pushed her chair back. “I think I need to speak to Kingsley.”

* * *

At ten past four, the archway door between their workspaces was violently flung open. It had been years since Hermione had witnessed Snape’s horrible temper first hand, and as he strode into the room, her mind went spiralling back to her years at Hogwarts when he would snarl and snipe at everyone in his vicinity. Now, she sat alone before him, aware that there was nobody else to share his ire. 

He marched over to the desk where she sat, and placing his palms on the top, he leant forward menacingly. “Who has died?”

Hermione stared blankly up at him, her red rimmed eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry?”

Snape glared. “It was a simple question, Granger. I shall repeat it once, please listen carefully: Who. Has. Died?”

“No…nobody has died.”

“Then kindly cease your wailing,” he grumbled. “I’ve cast three charms so far this afternoon, and your snuffling is still penetrating the brickwork.” He turned and headed back towards the door.

“It’s because they’re not real bricks.”

Snape stopped and turned. “I beg your pardon?”

“The room isn’t supposed to be divided like this. We’re supposed to be working together. They’re not real bricks. I checked.”

Snape nodded curtly. “And now you know, please do your best to maintain the illusion.” Again, he moved to leave, his hand pulling the archway door open.

“I was kicked out of my exams,” she blurted out.

“What?”

“Kicked out. Two years I spent in that department, and I was just weeks off finishing.”

Deep frown lines appeared on Snape’s forehead. “They stopped you from sitting your exams? Whatever for?”

“I had a disagreement with Urquhart.”

Snape leant back on the real outer wall of the room and kicked the door shut. “Pompous little git, he is,” he said. “Always was. Show me ten witches or wizards who haven’t had a disagreement with him.” He peered at Hermione curiously. “Why would the Ministry stop the wonderful Hermione Granger from sitting her exams because of a little upstart like Urquhart?”

Hermione, in turn, was peering back at Snape. “Why didn’t you question my being here?”

There was a long silence, and Snape rolled his neck, cricking it loudly. “I was being punished.”

“You thought I was your punishment?!”

Snape raised a hand to silence her. “But it appears that I am also yours?”

She nodded. “You brought this on yourself,” she quoted.

Snape gave her a twisted grin. “Now get on with it,” he finished. He stroked his jaw thoughtfully. “It appears that maybe we do have a few things to discuss. Do you have any tea?”

* * *

Hermione wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. “So, what are you doing in there?”

Snape scowled. “I thought I had established that I didn’t wish to talk about my work?”

“I don’t understand. Croaker was always whining about your lack of work ethic, saying that you were getting poor scores in your performance management. But since I’ve been here, you’ve been locked up in your half of the room from dawn ‘til dusk.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you’re beating Croaker at his own game? Are you just asleep in there, and that’s why you don’t want me anywhere near?”

To her surprise, Snape laughed. “Impertinence,” he sniffed. “Of course I’m working – if I didn’t, they’d sling me back in Azkaban.”

“Back? I didn’t know you had spent time in Az-”

“There’s a lot people don’t know about me,” Snape said, hurriedly. “Tell me, which area did you decide to focus on?”

“If you’re not telling me what you’re working on, I don’t see why I should tell you about my project.”

Again, to her surprise, a thin smile crept across his face. “Indeed,” he said. “You are quite right.” He placed his mug on the desk. “I should clear up before we finish for the day. My thanks for the tea.” With a slight nod, he exited and the door between their workspaces shut.

Hermione fought the urge to rest her head upon the desk. The first amiable contact they’d had since they’d started working together, and her emulation of his stubborn behaviour had caused him to retreat as quickly as he’d first appeared.


	3. Chapter 3

“Anything?”

Harry shook his head as he grabbed the seat next to Hermione at her desk. “You?”

“A bit.” She pushed a pile of papers towards him, each paragraph covered with ink where she’d highlighted and underlined important passages. She stifled a smile at his despondent look. 

“You call this ‘a bit’? You er, don’t fancy summarising do you, Hermione? An abridged version, perhaps?”

“I knew that was coming,” she laughed, taking the papers back and shuffling them neatly. “I can’t be certain, but I am leaning towards a potion rather than a curse.” She flicked through the pile of papers and handed just three over to Harry, who took them keenly. “The sheer numbers that are coming through now, it has to be something quite widespread.”

“But who? How?” Harry ran his hand through his hair, revealing his jagged scar on his forehead. “All of the cases this week…there’s no common ground. Some are manual workers, some are the landed gentry. Some are educated, some aren’t. Some have families, some live alone. Some live in the north, some in the south. There’s just nothing to connect them.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “I wondered if it was something that’s been given to everyone.”

“Like?”

“Hitting the water supply?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “But why are relatively few people affected? This problem is widespread in our terms, not Muggle terms.”

“You said it yourself: it’s got to be something that’s all over the country, something that everyone from all backgrounds would have access to.”

“Excuse the terrible pun,” Harry said, giving her a half smile, “but I have to pour cold water on the idea. Why would it only affect a handful of people? Don’t get me wrong, we’re seeing more and more cases every day – but when you think of the population of Muggle Britain, it’s not really significant enough for water to be the carrier. Isn’t it more likely that the Muggles affected were directly targeted? Deliberately chosen?”

“What if everyone is drugged, but only some people are susceptible? What if there’s a reason why certain Muggles are impacted and others are fine?”

Harry’s mouth opened slightly as he took Hermione’s words in. “Like, your parents?” 

Hermione nodded. “Or your aunt.”

“Muggles who might have carried some latent magic inside them.”

“But not enough to be a full blown witch or wizard themselves.”

Harry stood, and beckoned for her to join him, allowing him to give her a hearty hug. “I feel so guilty.”

“Guilty? Why? You couldn’t have stopped this from happening.”

“No, not about that! Well, yes, about that – but we can solve that now you’ve done all of this work.” He waved his hand over her desk, indicating to her ample research. “I mean, you sat listening to me whining on about how the departments don’t work together and Merlin, I even said as much in my appraisal! And now I find out that I was just oblivious to the inner workings of the Ministry.”

Hermione gave a pinched smile.

“I thought you were looking into it in your spare time as a favour to me, but seeing all of your research – it’s taken you forever, I can tell. And now it’s obvious-”

“Is it?”

“Your list of projects updates magically with the most pressing cases, and then your team – if you can call you and Snape a team! - works on whatever is needed as a priority, bringing each strand into your so-called project. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” He shook his head. “You’ll understand this more than most, Hermione, but even though I’ve been in the magical world for decades now, you can’t quite shake your Muggle upbringing, can you?”

Her smile seemed to be frozen on her face.

“I Apparate and Disapparate to commute, and fly on a broomstick for recreation. We take potions to cure basic ailments, and our post is delivered by owls – and yet, I totally forgot that your handbook could update of its own accord, depending on what’s been reported by other areas of the Ministry. Magnificent.” 

“Magnificent,” she echoed, in a small voice.

Harry picked up a couple of her papers and clapped her shoulder. “Just like you, Hermione – you really are magnificent!”

She forced a laugh as she watched him exit the room. “Never forget it,” she called after him. 

“Magnificent, are we?”

Hermione jumped at Snape’s sudden appearance, and cast her hand over her papers, causing them to leap into her desk drawers. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“You shouldn’t brag about your so-called brainpower,” he sniffed, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room.

“I wasn’t bragging. I was merely agreeing with another’s supposition. Tea?”

He nodded, and sat in the chair that Harry had vacated. “And what did Potter want?”

“ _Harry_ ,” she said, with feeling, “wanted to discuss my project.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You require someone with whom you can discuss your project?” He shuffled slightly in his chair as Hermione levitated his mug towards his hands. “Of course, you could have such a discussion with your incredibly experienced work partner instead of a boy who runs around chasing explosions every day.”

“My incredibly experienced work partner told me in no uncertain terms that such behaviour was unacceptable within these rooms.”

“…did he really? Did he use those exact words?”

Hermione smirked as she sat down, her hands wrapped around her warm mug. “It was close enough.”

“Not even close,” Snape disagreed. “I said that I wasn’t willing to discuss my own work with you. I said nothing on the subject of being a sounding board for your project.”

“You said no questions!”

“About my work, certainly. About yours… I could be persuaded to show an interest.”

“You’re the experienced spy,” Hermione interjected. “You tell me what you think I’m working on.” She reached over and pulled the handbook from her cramped bookshelves, and passed it to him. “I’ll even let you look at the handbook for inspiration.”

Snape silently took the battered volume from the witch, and leisurely scrolled through the pages.

Hermione sipped her tea, and pushed a curl back behind her ear. “What if we are working on the same thing?”

“We are not,” he said, his tone confident.

“How can you be sure?”

This time, he didn’t respond, and the room was silent apart from the steady ticking of a clock, and the eventual brush of a page as he read.

“One of these,” he said, passing the book back to her, and indicating to a page. 

She glanced down the list. “So if you are certain that we’re not working on the same project, I am to assume that you are not working on any of these either?” 

He gave a sharp nod. “Well?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He gazed at her levelly, and then finished his drink. “If you wish to talk, you know where to find me,” he said, setting the empty mug gently back onto her desk.

“Severus?”

He stopped, and turned, his eyebrow raised once more. “Severus?”

She shrugged. “How can I be expected to discuss my innermost thoughts and theories with a man who I am not on first name terms with?”

“How can you, indeed?” he said, with a smirk. He paused, and then gave a slight nod of assent. “Hermione.” 

And then, the door beneath the archway was shut. 

* * *

He walked into their shared workspace, his chest tight. Traversing the Ministry that morning had been horrific – Halloween decorations adorned every surface, and even raced through the air, whistling past his head. He’d opened the door to his and Hermione’s office with more than a hint of trepidation, and was astonished to discover that Hermione’s side of the room was bare.

“Good morning, Severus.” 

“Good morning, Hermione.”

“Tea?”

He nodded, but didn’t move from the now closed door, his back pressed against it. “I-” He coughed, and tried again. “I thought you would perhaps like to celebrate Halloween?”

She looked over at him, raking her eyes over his body in such a way that he felt utterly exposed before her. “Given the events in living memory, I thought you would perhaps prefer to ignore it.”

His lips quirked. “You thought correctly.”

“Then, if my workspace is amenable to you, why not set up in here today?” She saw his shoulders stiffen, and she glanced away, pretending she hadn’t noticed. “We don’t have to work, I’m sure one day off won’t ruin our progress on our respective projects.” She crossed the room, and pressed a mug of tea into his hands. “We could read.”

“And research?”

Hermione nodded. “And discuss new and exciting theories. If you would like that?”

He took a seat at her desk. When he spoke, his voice was so soft, she almost missed his response. “I would like that very much.”

* * *

“I don’t suppose your kettle is on, Hermione?”

Hermione smiled at the figure standing in the archway, and she beckoned him in. He gave a slight smile back, so fleeting that if she hadn’t kept looking at his face, she would’ve missed it. “Difficult morning?”

“The worst. A cauldron blew.”

“I heard. Well, I heard your litany of swearwords. Inventive,” she grinned.

He gave a small huff of amusement. “Its contents spilt across the other seven,” he explained. “A week’s worth of work gone. Anyway, moving on,” he indicated to the pile of books on her desk that he’d gifted to her the previous week. “Were they any use?”

“If I had been working on one of the projects from page thirty seven, I dare say they would’ve been.”

“I am wounded,” he said, settling into the seat opposite her own. “I’ve ruled out approximately sixty projects now.”

“For someone with such a formidable reputation, you’re not much good at this spying lark, are you?”

Snape leant his arms against her desk, and rested his chin on his arms. “Now now, I was truly excellent at being Dumbledore’s puppet, parroting his every word to the Dark Lord.”

Hermione stared evenly at him. “You do yourself a disservice.”

He scowled. “I was excellent at listening and eavesdropping, but I drew a lot of incorrect conclusions,” he admitted. “I was much better when I provided Dumbledore with the information and listened to his determinations rather than running off with my own ill-composed suppositions.” He picked at some imaginary fluff on his arm. “Not that I would’ve admitted such a few years ago.”

The silence rang heavy between them.

“I was a pain when I was a student.”

At this, a flicker of a frown crossed Snape’s brow. 

Hermione laughed. “Don’t pretend you thought otherwise – not now, not after all of your griping!”

“…I wasn’t about to,” he protested, the frown still marring his face. “But not once has anyone ever agreed with me. How often I heard the refrain of, ‘The _brilliant_ Hermione Granger-”

“Ah, ah! I was brilliant. I _am_ brilliant,” Hermione smiled cheekily. “And a few years ago, I would never have admitted that I was a pain. Now I can see that I was – all that vying for attention, waving my hand around and overfilling the parchment-”

“-how wise you have become,” Snape drawled.

“People change.”

Snape’s nostrils flared slightly as he watched Hermione move from her desk to the whistling kettle. “Indeed they do,” he muttered.

* * *

Hermione pulled her bags tightly to her as she strode down the corridor, shaking snow from her hair as she walked. Thank Merlin for flexitime; she couldn’t have faced braving Diagon Alley on a Saturday in December. Ordinarily, Hermione was the sort of witch who purchased her presents in November, yet for the first Christmas since she’d started her working life, her days had been so long, she hadn’t had opportunity to purchase any presents. 

Fortunately, she’d thought ahead and made a list of what everyone wanted, so all she’d needed was an hour before work started, and her shopping was complete. A weekend of wine, wrapping and terrible Muggle Christmas films awaited. She bumped open the door to her room, and bustled in, dropping her bulging bags at her desk.

Then, as if a bolt of electricity shot through her, she jerked upwards. Last night, her room had been utterly bare; now it was decked out in cheery decorations, tinsel and holly adorning the walls, snowflakes on the windows, and a large and neatly decorated tree taking up most of the far corner.

The door beneath the archway swung open, and Snape poked his head through. He watched as Hermione gazed around the room, her hands covering her mouth, taking in her surroundings.

“Is it suitable?”

“Oh, Severus!” She ran across the room and, to his utter shock, flung her arms around his neck. “This is wonderful! Thank you, thank you!”

He smiled, and she felt his chest puff out against her own at her words. “It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice a deep rumble which made Hermione feel warm inside. She was in no rush to release him from her embrace.

* * *

It had been an odd fortnight. She still hadn’t dared venture into Snape’s workspace, although she had peered behind his shoulder whilst hugging him, and had noticed that his own side of the room was adorned in a similar fashion. She’d smiled to herself, pleased to think that even someone as seemingly cold as Snape was a fan of Christmas, and all of the accompanying trinkets.

He’d been in a funny mood ever since he’d decorated their rooms, and he had popped through the door more often than usual. It made Hermione smile to think that when they started working together, she wouldn’t see him all week – unless, of course, you counted their lunchtime visits to the canteen where she might have spied him across the room. As soon as he’d realised that he was as much her punishment as she was his, he’d softened, and would routinely poke his head through the doorway to ask for a cup of tea in the afternoon.

After months of working together, the two had started to relax into each other’s company, and she was always happy to stop her work to steal a few moments with the older wizard. She still wasn’t quite used to working solo, so any opportunity to chat and discuss ideas was welcome. As summer rolled around, their tea breaks had increased to one in the morning, as well as one in the afternoon – and on a rare, special occasion, if a tricky research topic had reared its head and was begging to be discussed, he might visit for a third. But since he’d decorated her rooms, he’d averaged at least five. His appearances had become so frequent, last week she’d jested that he was drinking her out of house and home – and at his pained look, she’d instantly regretted it, worried that he’d retreat back to his workspace. 

To her happy surprise, he hadn’t. The next day, she came into work and found that he’d filled one of her cupboards with boxes of tea, and – to her delight – a few packets of her favourite biscuits, and a few packets of his.

It was more than just tea. Snape’s behaviour towards her had changed dramatically throughout November. Since the summer, she’d often caught him glancing at her, or looking at her with a faraway look in his eyes, but he was so good at Occluding, she hadn’t dared read too much into it. For all she knew, he was dreaming about what to have for his evening meal. Snape had always been a curious man when he was at Hogwarts, and his isolated conditions of the past few years had hardly given him cause to open up to people.

But, as much as Harry and Ginny would never believe it, he had started to talk to her – really talk to her. He’d offered her books and papers from his private collection, and he was always happy to invest his time in her research. She loved nothing more than presenting him with a theory, and listening as he worked out a way to discredit every author that she’d cited, whether warranted or not. He was as harsh in his critique of wizarding professionals as he had been of schoolchildren, although Hermione found his scathing comments far more amusing now that she wasn’t the target.

As time had gone by, he’d even patiently listened to laments about her private life, and once, had clasped her shoulder when a small tear had appeared when the topic of her failed relationship with Ron had been discussed. On the other hand, his face had been thunderous when she’d explained the truth about her misunderstanding with Urquhart, and upon hearing the word, “Mudblood,” Snape had retreated into his own workspace, and seemingly sulked for hours.

The next day, she heard that Urquhart had rung in sick, whilst Snape was in a much merrier mood.

Urquhart didn’t return to work for just under three weeks. Hermione didn’t dare mention the topic to Snape again, but she had noticed that Urquhart’s rather smug grin was absent whenever he passed her in the corridor.

Snape had been off sick himself a few times during the autumn, but Hermione doubted that Urquhart had dared to wreak revenge. Urquhart still looked strangely pale, and not as triumphant she would have imagined had he been the perpetrator. She hadn’t visited Snape during his absences – she wasn’t sure where he lived, and although she knew Harry was aware, she didn’t wish to impose – but she was also relieved each time he returned to work. It was as if being ill had taken his fire from within him, and he always looked both tired and strangely dishevelled – but within a day or so, he was back to his usual self. 

But all throughout today, Snape had been acting rather more strangely. Concerned that he was fretting about finishing his project before the year was out, she cautiously knocked on the door between their rooms, and for the first time, she also tried the handle. 

To her utmost surprise, the door swung open, and she was able to enter. It looked identical to her own, but with several potions bubbling away on the far side. Snape’s desk was messier than hers, with papers and books strewn across it – and Snape himself was writing on the blackboard at the back of the room, flicking his wand to make the words dance.

“Severus?”

Slowly, he turned around, sliding his wand up his sleeve and pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. “Have you finished for Christmas?”

“I have! The last potion has been tested, and the final paragraph has been written.” She glanced over at the clock. “And at four pm on Christmas Eve, I assure you that I am not starting anything new.”

“I admire your ability to focus and finish,” he said, gesturing at the disarray in his workplace. “I should really try and wrap things up myself.” He moved across the room, casting his wand and causing his potions to cease bubbling. He bowed his head over a cauldron, and to Hermione’s surprise, his voice sounded a little more forced than the usual nonchalance she’d become accustomed to. “What are your plans for tomorrow? Are you seeing Potter and his brood?”

Hermione shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Only perhaps?”

“The invitation is there, and of course, I am grateful…”

Snape lifted his head from over the cauldron, and after bottling the contents, he banished the dirty cauldron towards the sink before moving to the next. He glanced back at Hermione and waved his hand, urging her to continue as he worked.

“…it’s just, there’s only so many Christmases that you want to spend with a horde of screaming kids when they are not your own.”

“A whole horde?” As soon as he’d asked the question, he gave a half smile in realisation. “Ah, I see. Mr Potter and the former Miss Weasley are playing host to the in-laws this year, am I correct?”

“You know me so well.”

This time, the smile spread to his eyes, which crinkled in the corners. “So if you’re not intending to visit Potter, his wife, and his ever-so-delightful brother-in-law,” he gave a wicked smile at his own deduction, “then just what are your intentions for the day?”

“I figure that I am sure to have a book amongst my presents,” she grinned. “I’m thinking silky pyjamas, a bottle of elf-made wine, and a roaring fire.”

He nodded approvingly. “Your plans sound very much like my own.”

“The book I can believe, but silky pyjamas? Really?”

“I’ll have you know that Lucius sent me a rather fetching silk robe whilst I was recuperating.”

To his amusement, Hermione burst into peals of laughter. “And what about you? Are you heading up to Hogwarts?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Hermione looked surprised. “I thought it was a tradition?”

“Some would call it a tradition, I suppose,” he said, flashing her a grin, “but there’s only so many Christmases that you want to spend with a horde of screaming kids when they are not your own.” 

“Severus!”

“In all seriousness, I went back to Hogwarts in those first few years of my freedom to give my thanks to Minerva and Poppy for their efforts whilst I convalesced, but times have changed. For most of my life, Hogwarts was my home, but the events of my year as Headmaster…” He momentarily fell silent, before moving on. “Needless to say, I prefer to draw a line under my time during the war, and that means drawing a line under my time as a teacher. Returning to Hogwarts when I am no longer affiliated to the place feels like a backwards step.” He gave a half bow. “Professor Snape, you understand, is no more.”

“I know what you mean. It’s how I feel about the Burrow. It was my second home for so long, but since…” she trailed off.

“I can imagine.” He gave her an appraising look. “Ronald aside, you don’t need to tell me about the negative aspects of well-meaning Weasleys. Lovely people, but meddlesome.”

“So what are your plans?” she pressed, changing the subject.

“I already told you,” he smiled. “Our plans appear to match.”

“In which case, enjoy your book and your wine,” she said, with a grin. “And your silk robe. I’ll see you after New Year?”

“You will. Have a wonderful Christmas, Hermione,” he said. “I left a present for you under your tree.”

“I saw. Thank you. I left yours next to it. I didn’t like to intrude.”

“Please do,” he said.

She smiled, and raised her wand. A small, wrapped parcel flew through the archway and settled itself under Snape’s tree. “Merry Christmas, Severus.” 

He nodded, but he didn’t move. The look on his face made Hermione think that he was working up to something, but despite waiting, he didn’t speak. 

“Severus?”

“Yes?” His response was instantaneous.

“…are you free tonight? Or…tomorrow?” She wrung her hands nervously, unsure of where the suggestion had come from. He eyed her curiously, and she felt a small blush spreading across her face. “It’s nothing. I mean, like I said, I’m just going to have a glass of wine, and I was going to put on a silly festive Muggle film… It’s nothing scintillating, I’m sure, but if you’re not busy… I mean, that is, I was-”

“Yes.”

“I know, I know, it was a silly thing to suggest, and I… Did you just say yes?”

“Yes.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes to tonight, or to tomorrow?”

A smile raked across his face. “Let’s start with tonight, and we’ll see if you get sick of me.” Before she had chance to change her mind, he waved his hand. Instantly, the blackboard cleared, and the papers on his desk leapt into the desk drawers, the locks clicking behind them. He reached and grabbed his dark cloak from the stand and before Hermione could say another word, he ushered them both through the door beneath the archway, his hand warm on the small of her back.

* * *

The two walked out of the Ministry and headed through the decorated streets. Snape had declined the offer of side-along Apparation to Hermione’s flat, claiming that he wanted to see Muggle London at its best – and although the gesture seemed romantic and entrancing when he suggested it, Hermione was astonished by the sheer number of Muggles pushing and shoving their way down the brightly decorated streets. The earlier snowfall had been ground into a muddy slush, and the shops looked as if they’d been swarmed by locusts.

“It’s funny,” Severus mused as he stopped and pulled Hermione close to him, making space for a burly man to push past the pair, “but I was under the impression that Christmas fell on 25th of December every year.” 

Hermione laughed into his chest. “Yet everyone around us seems utterly surprised that it’s tomorrow, and they’re completely unprepared. I’ve never seen London like this.”

“Ah, but you shop in November.”

“How do you know that?”

He chuckled. “I didn’t. It was an educated guess.”

She stayed in his arms for a long minute, and then reluctantly pushed away. “If you don’t want to side-along, how about the tube?”

He gripped her gloved hand firmly in agreement, and the two descended the steps into the underground.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, Snape was stood in Hermione’s kitchen, chopping vegetables whilst Christmas carols played. Hermione leant against the kitchen doorway, sipping from her glass of wine whilst she watched him work. “I can’t believe I’ve invited you over, and you’re cooking for me.”

“You provided the wine,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. “And seeing as I’ve helped you to polish off the best of a bottle, it’s only fair I do my bit.”

“But still-”

“Still what? I could hardly just sit in the living room with my feet up whilst you ran around after me.” He slid the chopped vegetables into the pan of mince, and stirred gently. “It’s nothing. I’d have cooked for myself at home.”

She ventured into the kitchen, inhaling deeply. “What is it? It smells amazing.”

Snape wiped his hands on the dish cloth, and hung it on the rack. “It’s not really got a name,” he admitted. “It’s just mince and tomatoes and vegetables. A few herbs. A glug of wine.”

“Whatever you could find in my fridge, thrown into a pan?”

He smiled. “Yes. But our kitchens are not so different. You had more kale and fewer carrots,” he admitted, “but it’s about the same.”

Hermione prodded at the mixture with a wooden spoon, lifting a morsel to her mouth to taste. “It’s like spaghetti but with vegetables instead of pasta.”

“An accurate summation,” he said. “We didn’t have it often, but when I was really sick, my mum would make this. She said it was good for the soul.” A knot of uncertainty twisted in his stomach as he cautiously moved behind Hermione, and placed a gentle hand on her hip as she peered at the food. “I eat it a lot these days.” 

Hermione leant back against his chest, causing the knot within him to dissipate. “No wonder your potions are amazing,” she said, scooping some of the finely sliced vegetables out of the sauce to marvel at them. “Look at your knife skills.”

“It’s how I learnt to prepare potions ingredients,” he said. Daringly, he folded his arms around her waist and he was pleased when she put down the spoon and wrapped her own arms around his, holding him to her. “My dad didn’t approve of magic in the house,” he said, his voice low, “but Mum was determined that I wasn’t going to go to Hogwarts without some instruction. He couldn’t argue with cooking, so she bought vegetables, and we chopped, and we sliced, and we diced until my knife work was perfect.” He gave a small laugh, and Hermione felt the rumble of amusement in his chest. “I nearly lost a finger when I was five.”

Hermione’s body stiffened in horror, and impulsively, she reached for his hands, entangling his long fingers with her own. “How?”

“Let’s just say that I was relieved to find that you didn’t have any swedes in your vegetable box.”

* * *

Through the course of the film, she’d shuffled ever closer to him, and as the final act was playing out, her head rested against his firm chest. His arm was now draped over her shoulder and his hand rested gently by her side. When the closing credits of the film rolled, he moved to stand, but she grasped his wrist. “Stay.”

He smiled at her, and although he didn’t settle back comfortably on the sofa, he remained seated. “I was only going to wash the dishes.”

“They’ll do tomorrow.”

“They’ll be caked solid tomorrow.”

“I have it on good authority that you’re well versed in cleaning charms,” she grinned. “I know you saved your worst cauldrons for detention, but you’re not telling me that you can’t easily remove a solidified substance from a pot?”

“What else is magic for?” he deadpanned, relaxing back onto the sofa. 

She waved her hand, and silently summoned the rapidly emptying wine bottle from the kitchen.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he murmured, as she filled their empty glasses, and passed his to him.

“Perhaps.”

“So I cannot Apparate home?”

His words stunned her into silence. Eventually, she whispered, “Do you want to Apparate home?” 

He winced as the hand holding her drink shook slightly, but still, he could not stop the word falling from his lips. “Perhaps.”


	4. Chapter 4

The snow crunched beneath her boots as she strode up the path. Through the window, she could see that the living room was full of cheerful redheaded family members, and before she could reassess and change her mind, James threw the door open, bolted down the path and flung his arms around her waist.

“Auntie Hermione! Santa’s been!”

* * *

She’d only intended to stay for a few hours – just long enough to shake the dismay that had shrouded her when Severus had headed from her flat without so much as a glance behind him. Well, that and the hangover.

But, as so often occurred at Weasley-filled gatherings, Hermione found that the hours sped by. She was dragged off to play with the youngest Potters and their cousins, and then embroiled in an intense discussion with Bill and Fleur, then Percy, Charlie and Ron, and finally, Molly and Arthur pulled her into the dining room.

* * *

Ginny looked down the shabby road. “If you don’t know which house is his, we’ll have to knock on every door.”

“We have time.”

“Harry, it’s Christmas Day!”

“Everyone understands why we’ve come. They won’t mind how long it takes.”

“I meant for the Muggles who live here. They don’t want to be disturbed in the middle of their celebrations.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, his jaw set. 

* * *

“And how is the Ministry placement going, dear?” Molly asked, as she placed an unasked for cup of tea before Hermione. She glanced at Arthur. “Arthur said you’d had a little problem in the Brain Department?”

Hermione winced at Molly’s well intentioned query. She didn’t want to discuss her failed escapades with Molly – and she certainly didn’t want to be reminded of what happened with Urquhart, especially given that her burgeoning relationship with Snape had followed almost exactly the same path.

Yet again, she’d been swept away in the moment, and had completely misread the situation. Once was a mistake, but twice was unforgivable. She thought back to the night before, and how he’d pulled her to him in the street when the Muggles were pushing past, and how he’d held her hand as they entered the tube station. She thought of him wrapping his arms around her waist, and how he had accepted – even welcomed! – her into his embrace as they watched the film. 

She thought she’d read the signs perfectly, but she should’ve known better – he was clearly playing a game. She’d thought about it all night, and had drawn the conclusion that he knew all about the circumstances with Urquhart and had decided to use that against her in a plot to rid her from his workplace once and for all. She’d truly believed that they’d become genuine friends, and in quiet moments when she lay in bed at night, she’d mulled on them becoming more. To find out the truth was heart-breaking. To Molly and Arthur’s astonishment, a tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek, but before she could open her mouth to explain, the kind witch had enveloped Hermione in her warm embrace. 

“There now, dear,” she said, hugging her as if she was one of her own. 

“It’ll be fine, Hermione,” Arthur said, patting her shoulder. “These slip ups occur from time to time. As long as you fill the rest of your placements, no more will ever be said about it.”

Hermione sobbed even more loudly and Molly shot Arthur an exasperated look. 

“I’ll er, see if anyone needs my help in the kitchen,” he said, hastily. 

* * *

“What do you want, Potter?” snarled Snape, as he pulled the door open. Harry recoiled slightly as he took in Snape’s unkempt appearance – he looked as if he’d slept in yesterday’s clothes, his hair was lank and his face unshaven, and he reeked of alcohol. 

Harry’s movement revealed that Ginny was stood behind him. Momentarily, shock clouded Snape’s severe features, but he rapidly composed himself, his face twisting back into an ugly sneer. “ _Two_ Potters for Christmas,” he crowed. “My, my, Severus, you must have been a very naughty boy this year!”

Ginny ignored his remark, and pushed her way into his house, pulling Harry behind her. “Shut the door, Snape, you’re letting the heat out.”

“What heat?” Harry said, as they entered the freezing living room. “Merlin’s sake, Snape, you’ll make yourself ill again. No wonder you were off last week. It must be into minus figures in here.” He cast warming charms around the three figures, and then lit the grate, causing a roaring fire to spew heat into the cold room.

“I did not request your assistance, Potter.” He glared at Ginny. “ _Potters_.”

“I’ll tone it down after the place has warmed through,” Harry said, rubbing his hands. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Snape stared at Harry, but didn’t speak.

“I can wait all day,” Harry warned.

“You were the one, sorry, _two_ ,” Snape said, waving his hand at Ginny, “who burst in here uninvited and, might I add, utterly unwanted. Perhaps you would care to explain why you have deigned to grace me with your presence on today of all days? Do you not have a veritable cornucopia of red-headed guests to entertain?”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “We want to know what you did to Hermione.”

“I have done nothing to Miss Granger.”

“You’ve hurt her,” Harry said, simply.

“I most certainly have not,” he spat. “What exactly are you two dunderheads accusing me of?”

“No? Then why did she turn up at ours this morning looking as if she’d spent the whole night crying?” 

Snape turned away, his limp hair covering his features. “I did not touch her.”

“I think that’s the problem,” Ginny ventured. “She was under the impression-”

“Then she was mistaken!” Snape whirled around, and stalked through the living room, past Ginny and Harry and into the kitchen. 

Behind his back, Ginny pointed to the empty bottle of Ogden’s Old that sat next to Snape’s armchair, and the empty potion vial next to it. Harry grimaced, and sniffed it. “Sober Up,” he said and picking up both bottles, followed Snape into the small kitchen. He placed the empty bottles into the bin, and as he turned, witnessed Snape opening a fresh bottle of firewhisky.

“I thought you were better than this.”

“So does everyone,” Snape sneered, as he poured a healthy measure into a small glass. “But it seems, Potter, that very few have ever bothered to get to know the real me. So whilst your ideal version of Snape might be ‘better than this’,” he threw his hands up in the shape of inverted commas, “whatever ‘this’ might be, I assure you that _this_ Snape most assuredly is not.”

“You’re absolutely right. You’re petty, childish, nasty-”

“Harry, that’s enough,” Ginny interjected.

“No, don’t stop him now,” Snape snarled, his drink sloshing over the side of his glass. “Go on, Potter. You’ve been dying to tell me all of this for years – let it all out!”

Harry bit his lip, and pulled himself up to his full height. “Why did you sit opposite me in the canteen?”

Snape snorted in disbelief. “You genuinely do not know? Our beloved, decorated auror is so unaware-”

“Do we have to have the theatrics with every response?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Just answer the question, Snape.”

Snape scowled and took a mouthful from his drink. “Legilimency.”

“You were reading my mind?” Harry tensed, and gripped his wand. “You were. You were reading my fucking mind.”

Ginny placed a soothing hand on Harry’s arm. “What made you stop?”

“She was sitting next to you.”

“She being the cat’s mother,” Harry said, looking pointedly at Ginny. “He means Hermione.”

Snape shrugged. “I had expressed to her that I did not wish to converse with her during the working day. I felt that sitting at the same table in the canteen would confuse matters.”

“You’ve done a lot more than that now,” Ginny muttered.

Harry held up his hand, before Snape could launch into a fresh tirade. He pressed his hands onto the kitchen table and stared Snape directly in the eye. “Why were you in my mind?”

“You had information that I required.”

“You didn’t think of asking?”

“Why bother to ask,” he said, his lip curling, “when I can just take?”

Harry gripped his wand more tightly, and didn’t miss the subtle movement of Snape’s hand moving for his own. “What,” he enunciated, “did you take?”

Snape glanced around the room, and then sniffed. “I wanted information about your project.”

“The Muggle one?”

He nodded. “You had access to the files, and the case did not make sense to you. Your thoughts were positively screaming at me.” He laughed. “I barely had to nudge.”

“It doesn’t make it right,” Ginny said. 

“I’m not trying to earn a medal for noble behaviour,” Snape snarled. “I’m trying to stop innocent people from dying, and if I have to penetrate – and I use the word in the loosest possible sense – Potter’s mind to aid my quest, then I have no qualms in doing so!”

Harry gave a sharp laugh. “I get it now. I get it. You utter bastard.”

Snape looked at Harry, then to Ginny, and back to Harry again. “I do not deny the accusation,” he said, mildly, “but wha-”

“This thing with Hermione,” Harry interrupted loudly, addressing Ginny and ignoring Snape. “It was to get access to the files for the project he was working on. He set her working on the same thing, pumping me for information – knowing all along that she’d pull out all of the stops to help her best friend-”

Snape looked alarmed. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve got your number, Snape,” Harry hissed, prodding his wand towards the older man. “Taking advantage of Hermione, stringing her along – and all so you could have access to the files from the aurors. You could’ve just asked, you bloody arse!”

Snape looked over at Ginny. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

Harry grabbed Snape by the collar. His movements were too quick for the man who had spent the better part of a day drinking, and he was left flailing whilst Harry twisted the material tightly and jabbed his wand into his neck.

“Hermione is working on the same project as you.”

Snape visibly paled. “That’s impossible.”

“She’s almost cracked it,” Harry said, twisting Snape’s shirt more tightly. “Muggles with latent magic, am I right? Like her parents. My aunt.”

Snape shook his head violently. “No, no. Not Muggles.”

“Not Muggles?” Harry raised his eyebrow sceptically.

“Has she presented this to anyone?” Snape looked desperate. “Are you sure she wasn’t just helping you out? Was she working on anything else?”

Harry glanced at Ginny, who shrugged. “I’ve not heard her discuss another project.”

“She’s submitted it, hasn’t she?” Snape whined, his face twisting into a grimace. “She said that she’d finished writing her final paragraph when she came into my lab. She’s submitted it.”

“I couldn’t say,” Ginny said, gesturing to Harry to loosen his hold on Snape. He did so, and Snape sagged, reaching for the worktop to steady himself. “She talks shop with Harry. When she talks to me, she talks about you.”

“She actually talks about me?” Snape gave a short laugh. “Oh, what a fucking mess.” 

“Yes, she talks about you, you absolute git!” Ginny looked exasperated. “Why do you think we came haring around here on her behalf?”

Snape looked stunned. “She asked you to come after me?”

“She didn’t have to! She turned up at ours looking like death an-”

“Forget it, Gin,” Harry said. “He was obviously stringing her along for a bit of sport. What’s a bit of collateral damage when you’re fighting for the greater good, am I rig-”

“No,” Snape said firmly, ignoring Harry and staring intently at Ginny. “Once again, you have leapt to completely the wrong conclusion, Potter. Mrs Potter, tell her I’m sorry. Tell her-”

“Tell her yourself!” 

“Harry shush!” Ginny said, propelling him out of the kitchen, and then turning back to snatch the drink from Snape’s hand. “He’s too angry to deal with you,” she said, staring at the dishevelled man. “And I’m looking at you – looking at this mess in front of me, and I’m trying to see him.”

Snape flinched, uncertain. “Him?”

“The man she talks about. Severus. The strong, intelligent, interesting man who is thoughtful and kind,” she carried on, ignoring his huff of disbelief. “She tells me everything, so I know that you are! I know the things you’ve done! And yet here I am, staring at you and I cannot see any trace of him – and believe you me, Snape, I want to see him.”

“He’s not, I’m no-”

“And I want to stare him in the face and ask him why he ran away and left,” she continued, indicating at Snape, “this sorry state in his wake.”

“Just tell her I’m sorry,” he said, thickly, stalking through the house and gathering his cloak. “I need to go to the Ministry.”

“Snape!”

With one hand on the door, Snape turned to face Harry who was sat in his armchair. “What?”

“Don’t mess this up for her,” Harry warned, standing up and crossing the room.

A crease flickered across Snape’s forehead. “I don-”

Harry leaned in closely. “If she fails your department, she’s out of her course. Years of studying, years of dreaming – all up in smoke, because you couldn’t be bothered to confide in her – couldn’t be bothered to mentor her like you were supposed to.”

Snape schooled his features, gave a short nod, and with a flick of his cloak, he Disapparated. 

* * *

He hesitated by her desk, and then sat in her seat. He would be furious if anyone pried in his papers, but he had to see if Potter’s tale was correct. He tried the drawers, and found they were locked, but a gentle Alohomora saw the protections give way. 

He pulled out all of the documents, and with no inkling of her system, he dismissed magic as a method, settling on doing it by hand. He rifled through the first few sheets, but it was full of irrelevant figures and equations. He dug deeper until a few sentences jumped out at him, and he knew he was closer to what he was looking for.

He abandoned the first folder, and moved to the second and then the third, spreading the neatly written notes across the desk, his movements becoming more frantic as their meaning became apparent. He flicked through the final thick binder, his worst fears being confirmed. The only saving grace was the fact that the documents were still in her drawers, and hadn’t been submitted. He hastily turned to the concluding page, and with shaking hands, slid the parchment out of its confines and read:

_Alas, no credible person or organisation has claimed responsibility. As a consequence, it is not feasible to pontificate upon the orchestrator’s primary objective, as any suggestion would merely be conjecture.  
_

_Furthermore, it is impossible to determine the nature of the attacks. It is plausible to suggest that the victims were Muggles who have somehow been contaminated – perhaps by spell, perhaps by potion – thereby causing magic to be available to them, when no such talent was previously acknowledged or registered by the magical world. This sudden appearance of such a rare and dangerous talent, with little to no warning, and with the Muggles being entirely unaware of how to control or harness their newfound skill, has sadly resulted in a copious number of fatalities.  
_

_The worst recorded events involved those Muggles who sought assistance from official sources. The various governmental, police and health departments within the Muggle world were ill-equipped to cope with the claims made, and the Muggles affected were routinely dismissed, and occasionally attempts were made to section victims. This negative reaction from the authorities caused the affected Muggles to become increasingly distressed, and highly emotional, thereby invoking the as yet uncontrolled thrum of magic that pulsed through their veins.  
_

_In all of these cases, the fatalities were considerable.  
_

_Alternatively, I would posit that it is also possible that the affected Muggles were, in fact, Muggleborn witches and wizards, who had their magic forcibly suppressed whilst they were children. Their abilities have now surprisingly come to the fore after lying dormant for many years.  
_

_I have researched extensively, and I have been unable to find a similar event in the history of the wizarding world. All Muggleborn witches and wizards demonstrate magic during their early years, and then their abilities are officially registered within the wizarding world. Traditionally, this manifests by their name appearing in the records of their local school – although, of course, attendance at this specific school is not mandatory. However, all registered witches and wizards must learn how to control their magic, and tuition of some variety must be provided.  
_

_Whilst some Muggles demonstrate brief flares of magical ability, usually in the form of dreams or premonition, these are often not significate in magnitude. It merely indicates that there is magic within the genetic code of the family, and it can lay dormant for many generations. If two Muggles who have the dormant magical genes in their family procreate, then they may bear a Muggleborn witch or wizard in their family. Interestingly, if a registered magical person – be it Pureblood, Halfblood or Muggleborn – procreates with such a Muggle, there is substantial research dating from the late 15th century to suggest that this could cause the emergence of a truly powerful Halfblood.  
_

_In turn, this research spurred magical families to copulate with Muggles, and to attempt to discover those who had shown flashes of insignificant magical talent. Interestingly, the number of sacred Pureblood families dwindled in this era, down to the 28 names we cite in the modern day. Unfortunately, the arrogance displayed by some magical families meant that Muggle families were left confused and betrayed at their loved ones disappearing from their tight knit communities, and opting to live with strangers in other parts of the country.  
_

_This pillaging of dormant magical genes culminated in the witch hunts of the 17th century. Consequently, all magical families moved away from Muggle communities, opting for segregation as opposed to integration in an effort to protect themselves from trial, imprisonment and death from an unforgiving Muggle society. This still stands today, with relatively few magical people choosing to marry Muggles.  
_

_None of this satisfactorily answers the question posited: Who has targeted these innocent Muggles (or indeed, Muggleborns), and what is their primary objective in doing so? Moreover, how do we prevent further deaths, and the accidental exposure of our magical world to the Muggles?  
_

He held the parchment to his face, and let out an anguished groan. 

* * *

His knock was obtrusive. Most people would’ve knocked a few times – three at most – and waited for the door to be answered, but Snape wasn’t most people. He pounded at the door relentlessly, refusing to abstain until the door swung open.

“Severus?” Arthur was shocked to see the dishevelled man stood before him at such a late hour on Christmas Day. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s Hermione?” Snape said, as he pushed his way in. He shrugged his cloak off and threw it towards a chair in the hallway. “I need to see Hermione. Now!” 

“Found what you needed then?” Harry asked, his voice even, James and Albus hiding behind his legs. 

“Severus?” Hermione emerged from the kitchen, Ginny trailing in her wake. “What’s happening?”

“Get a quill.”

“Good evening, Hermione,” Hermione sarcastically retorted. “How lovely to see you. I trust you had a wonderful Christmas after your plans fell through at the very last moment?”

“Yes, hilarious. I am a git. Believe it or not, I got the message,” Snape retorted, beckoning her to the dining room, and flashing an angry look at Harry and Ginny. “In stereo. We can discuss that afterwards. Quickly, before I change my mind.” 

With a glance to those assembled, Hermione followed and watched as he yanked a chair from under the table. He indicated that she should sit on it, before roughly pulling another out for himself, and then casting at the dining room door so it slammed shut. Hermione took in his serious expression, and picked up a quill and a fresh piece of parchment from the sideboard before sinking into the proffered chair. “Go on.”

“The Dark Lord,” Snape started, wincing as Hermione sucked in a breath at the mention, “did not value a world in which the magical and the Muggle mixed. He saw Muggleborns as a grave danger to the exposure of the wizarding world, and so did his followers.” At this, he looked at ceiling, determined not to meet Hermione’s gaze.

She sat, her quill poised, but her parchment as yet unmarked. “This is not news, Severus.”

“He decided that the best course of action was to suppress the magic of Muggleborns, and he set about devising a method. He thought of many ways to reach his goal, many of which I am certain have crossed your own brilliant mind – he discussed tainting the water supply, or the food supply, or even – in one utter moment of madness – setting off some sort of magical bomb that somehow would cover the entire country, the suppressant masked inside the cloud of vapour. That was…a memorable meeting.” 

Hermione’s breath hitched. She was now scribbling down Snape’s speech verbatim. “How did you know what I was working on?”

He ignored her question. “I am to blame for both the suppressant, and the method. One was deliberate, one – I assure you – was accidental. I informed Dumbledore of the Dark Lord’s plans, as always, and I was somewhat surprised to learn that he felt that I should lend my efforts to the Dark Lord’s plot.”

“But-”

He raised his hand to stop Hermione from speaking. “Dumbledore suggested that the impending magical war was inevitable, and it was not certain that Potter would triumph. In a world where the Dark Lord reigned, a Muggleborn was destined to a life of imprisonment, if not worse. Dumbledore felt that it would be prudent for me to lend my talents to the cause.” 

“Dumbledore saw it as a mercy?”

“By prohibiting Muggleborns from entering our world, we were saving them from a life of hell. It was better this way - they would never have known, and they could live happy and fulfilling lives in the Muggle world, with their friends and families by their sides.”

“I would’ve known! I always knew there was something different about me - something that stopped me from joining in, from making friends, from being one of the Muggles!”

“I know.” Snape’s voice was small. “Dumbledore didn’t really understand – for all his compassion in his later years, he didn’t often mix with Muggles or their families. He didn’t live in the Muggle world. I grew up in it. I still live amongst them – a wizard,” he barked a laugh, “an inner-circle Death Eater, no less, lived alongside the Muggles. Hermione, I know what it’s like for a Muggleborn to display their magic and to be feared by their loved ones. I know what it’s like for a Halfblood to display their magic when they’re not supposed to. I knew what our actions would mean – the pain it would cause.”

“And yet you still went ahead?” her voice dripped with disdain.

“I did whatever Dumbledore demanded.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Despite this, do not presume that I proceeded without a care. It was a heavy burden to carry, Hermione – all whilst nodding my head and agreeing with everything the Dark Lord suggested.” He drew in a deep breath. “You do not need to hear me talk about Potter’s mother, but I thought about my best friend. I thought about my students. …believe it or not, I thought about you. I thought about the inclusive world that we were trying to hang onto, what we were fighting for – and when, at the height of the war, I heard of Umbridge’s Muggleborn trials, I knew that we had done the right thing.”

“The right thing?” Hermione was incredulous.

“Hermione, if we had lost-”

“But we didn’t lose!”

“If we had, then all Muggleborns would’ve been…” He waved his hand. “Surely, you of all people, you do not need me to tell you what your fate would’ve been.”

Hermione dropped her quill, her eyes filled with tears. “But we didn’t lose,” she repeated.

“And who was there who was privy to the Dark Lord’s actions?” he hissed. “The Death Eaters were not a democratic organisation, Hermione! I will tell you exactly who was privy to the Dark Lord’s actions,” he ranted, ticking his fingers off as he spoke. “One: The Dark Lord. Two: Albus Dumbledore. Three: Severus Snape.” He lowered his hands. “That is it, Hermione. That is it.” 

“Nobody else knew? Nobody knows now?”

He sniffed. “I suspect McGonagall has been curious these past few years, but she would never suspect that the long departed Dark Lord would be behind the lack of Muggleborns registering at Hogwarts.” 

“And yet you haven’t told anyone.”

His face contorted with rage, spittle flicking from his lips. “In case it has slipped your mind, I was in a fucking coma for years. I wasn’t capable of telling anyone.”

“But you’ve been out for years and you still haven’t said a word!”

“I haven’t said a word because what good would that do? I tell you what they’d do, Hermione – they’d drag me back into that courtroom, shackle me in that chair and then they’d fling me straight back into Azkaban. Not just me, they’d drag in Kingsley, who vouched for me – and probably everyone else who stood on that stand and swore blind that I was a war hero! You and Potter included!”

“So it’s because you’re-”

“No! NO! It’s nothing to do with me! This isn’t about me! Think, Hermione! Think! As it stands, I am the only person who knows. And where am I? In the Department of Mysteries, surrounded by books and equipment, and everything that any wizard would ever need to try and reverse the ills that he caused!” 

“…this is what you’ve been working on?”

He nodded. “This is what I’ve been working on. For years. It’s why Croaker used to complain all of the time.” He grimaced. “I should’ve been straight with you; I’m sorry. We’re supposed to work together, and submit one piece of work from the handbook.”

“But you haven’t been working on a piece from the handbook, because you believed that this was more important? And that’s why Croaker thought you were lazy – because he was doing all of the work that could be submitted?”

“And I was doing nothing. Apparently. But up until recently, I had nothing to show for my efforts. I am certain that I have not been pursued more aggressively because of my role during the war, and my subsequent illness.” 

“Surely not?”

He bowed his head. “I am very much aware that if I was an employee in your position, I would have been thrown out years ago, with not so much as a reference to my name. Indeed, it brings me great shame to realise that for all of his efforts in vouching for me, I have become somewhat of a burden to Kingsley.” His voice caught. “When I started all of this, I didn’t expect it to take quite so long. I fully intended to highlight the problem and present my solution at the same time, and then work my days out in the Ministry as expected. All these years later, and I’m still struggling on – and now the truth is out before I’ve managed to make amends.”

Hermione ran her hands through her hair and groaned. “I worked on my own project because I thought you’d misunderstood the rules of the department.”

“Really?” Snape’s right eyebrow rose in a crooked arch.

“It sounds silly now,” she admitted, “but knowing how you and Croaker fought, I thought he hadn’t been honest with you, and you didn’t realise that we only needed to work on one project. Once you assured me that you were steadily working in your lab, and not taking day long siestas, I assumed you would definitely have something of worth to submit, so it didn’t matter what I worked on.”

Snape gave a weak smile. “It’s an interesting theory, but Croaker was not my first partner – not by a long shot.” He exhaled. “So now we both have nothing to submit which will fulfil our mandate.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold, but she didn’t flinch. “I think you should continue with your story.” She picked up her quill again. “Am I correct in assuming that you devised the potion which caused the suppression of magic within Muggleborns?”

“Yes.”

“And you did that deliberately, on the explicit instruction of both He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “So if the suppressant was the deliberate action from yourself, how did you accidentally cause the method?”

“I smoked.”

“Pardon?”

Snape ran his tongue over his lips, and suppressed a laugh. “I smoked. Filthy, dirty Muggle habit.”

“I’ve never seen you smoke.”

“I don’t now. The coma was good for something, I suppose. The craving just isn’t there these days.”

Hermione flung her chair back and paced the room for several long minutes before eventually sitting back down opposite him. “I want to believe you, but firstly, you’re famous for being a liar-” 

“Selective with the truth,” he interjected.

“A liar. A brilliant liar. The most talented liar to ever walk the earth.”

“For the great-”

“No! Don’t quote Dumbledore at me, Severus.” The air hung heavy between them, before she leaned forward, her voice threatening. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand it. You were a Halfblood wizard who masqueraded so well as a Pureblood that none of us would’ve ever suspected that you weren’t a Pureblood. I didn’t know until I read the announcement about your parents marrying. You were the Head of Slytherin! The purest of the pure! And yet, you smoked? Muggle cigarettes? I don’t believe a word that you’re saying. I can’t. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s true,” he said. “It’s true.” He reached his hands across the table, and gripped Hermione’s small hands in his own. “I might have appeared the epitome of a Pureblooded wizard to you, but I assure you that all of the Purebloods were very aware that Snape was not a wizarding surname. I knew I was different, and after being bullied about it for my first few years at Hogwarts, I decided to embrace it. It’s much harder for the bully if you accept their insult.”

“It’s not as simple as that – bullies don’t just stop.”

“Of course it’s not that simple. I tried it with Potter and his ilk – they were forever lambasting me for my greasy hair, so I stopped washing it altogether – I tried to pretend that my look was deliberate. A choice. It didn’t convince them, and they bullied me worse than ever.” He gave a twisted smile. “You win some, you lose some. But the Slytherins? Well, they were much easier to manipulate. They were baffled that there was a Halfblood in their house who wasn’t even attempting to pretend that he was Pure. Oh no, I was a Halfblood who kept screaming out at the world that I was a Halfblood, and I was happy to be so. I was proud of it.”

“And were you?”

His twisted grin grew wider. “Not at first. But once I saw it worked, I took it to the extreme – I wasn’t going to be just any Halfblood; I was going to be a Halfblood with Muggle heritage, and a smattering of Muggle habits.”

“Even as a Death Eater?”

“Even as a Death Eater.”

Hermione shook her head. “You must’ve been crazy.”

“It has been suggested.” He grinned. “Lucius thought I’d lost my mind. The Dark Lord would use me as an example of how the Muggle world could corrupt a fine wizard. I would often sit in the meetings, the only Death Eater who was happy to lift his mask amongst company, desperate to dangle that cigarette from my lips.” He smirked at the memory. “The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters valued their secrecy – during that first war, barely anybody knew the identities of anyone else. I was the exception.”

“Didn’t you care?”

“I had already defected. I thought I was going to be discovered by the Dark Lord, and I would die a horrible death. Otherwise, I would be captured by the Ministry and sent to Azkaban for the rest of my days. There was no long term outcome for me – every morning, I thought it would be my last day on earth. So, I took a perverse and sadistic pleasure in celebrating my Muggle heritage amongst some of the most dangerous and violent Muggle haters in the wizarding world.” He stroked his long fingers over her hands. “I have always been a little contrary. But by the time the second war rolled around, I was renowned for such curious behaviour – to have acted differently would’ve aroused suspicion. So I would Disapparate from Hogwarts, stroll into a meeting with a cigarette fixed between my lips, and I would lean back and smoke whilst the discussion ensued.”

“Laced cigarettes. You could’ve sat me in a room for ten years, and I wouldn’t have thought of it. It seems incredible that it worked.”

“The 90s was a different time,” he nodded. “People smoked all over the place – in pubs, in cars, in their houses. People even smoked when they walked their kids to school.” He grimaced. “I soaked tobacco in the potion, and we created…I don’t know, a couple of hundred cigarettes. We handed a few packets each to some of the newest Death Eaters, and encouraged them to smoke – just like their old professor did in the meeting they’d just sat in.” 

He withdrew his hands and placed them over his eyes. “They were all my students, and they were keen to emulate me. All young. Arthurs, Gibbs and Wainwright. As instructed, they smoked their way through the laced cigarettes, and at the next meeting, sure enough, their magic was suppressed.”

“What happened to them?”

“We discovered their lack of magic by fighting them.”

“They were killed?”

“I would suggest that slaughtered would be the more accurate term.” He raised his hands. “I didn’t send the killing blow – I didn’t send any blow, for that matter – but I accept that their blood is on my hands.”

“How did you get the cigarettes out into the world?”

“It was industrial. I created vast vats of the potion. Lucius helped, although he had no idea what he was brewing. I can’t say for certain that he was completely ignorant of what we were doing because he is a very keen and competent brewer himself,” Snape said softly. “He would perhaps be aware of what some of the components would potentially create when mixed, but he wasn’t explicitly told.”

“So you soaked the ordinary tobacco leaf in the potion?”

“Indeed. Muggle markets are easy to manipulate. We held up the supply, and caused a brief shortage. There was an outcry in the press as cigarette prices soared, which only served to fuel the surge. We soaked and dried the tobacco, and then resumed distribution to the factories. Production recommenced, and by the time the cigarettes were shipped to the shops, the Muggles suffering from nicotine withdrawal were lining the streets to hand over their cash. They stocked up, terrified that the supply would be cut again.”

“And every Muggleborn who was due to display their magic was affected by the second-hand smoke?”

“Correct.”

“But you weren’t?”

“Arthurs, Gibbs and Wainwright each smoked sixty or more. It was a heavy and direct dose to a group of very young men who hadn’t reached their full magical potential. I didn’t smoke any of the laced cigarettes. I’d already stockpiled, and my dungeon was full of unaffected cigarettes. When the tobacco was finally unleashed upon the general public, I was a permanent fixture at Hogwarts. I sealed my Muggle house, and left the neighbourhood. There was no way that I was risking being exposed to it.”

“What about the other witches and wizards who lived amongst Muggles?”

“Those who smoked tainted cigarettes would’ve had their magic suppressed. Those who were only exposed to second-hand smoke?” He shrugged yet again. “I think their skills would’ve been stunted for a few weeks, but they would’ve returned to their full powers after a while, as long as the exposure had ceased. The aim of the cigarettes was to stem the embryonic an unstable magic of Muggleborns – not anyone else in the magical community. Very few magical people would smoke themselves, and I don’t believe second-hand smoke would’ve permanently affected the magical abilities of those who had already reached their magical potential.”

“So the adults were fine, but what about Halfblood kids, like you were?”

He sighed. “There would be a few who were caught in the crossfire. Of that, I am certain. They would’ve been written off as lost potential - as Squibs - and kept in the Muggle community. There wasn’t any danger to children living within the magical world, and that was the Dark Lord’s concern.”

Hermione sat in silence, and then met his gaze. “My father smoked.”

“As did mine.”

“Then neither of us would be sat here if we had been born in the 90s.”

“Correct.”

Hermione shuddered, and re-inked her quill. “And now the potion is wearing off?”

“So it would seem.” He groaned. “I didn’t have any grand plan for it, Hermione – I didn’t get that far. I had no idea how long the effect would last for; it could’ve been months, it could’ve been decades. I merely hoped it would be long enough to keep innocent people away from the Dark Lord and his madness. Sure enough, when I checked the book at Hogwarts whilst I was Headmaster, I could see the blank entries where the Muggleborn names had been initially written, and then erased once their magic was suppressed.”

“But you never thought what might happen when it wore off?” She paused. “That’s a thought - do their names reappear in the book?”

“I assume so,” he said, “but not all of the missing Muggleborns would’ve been registered before their magic was suppressed. Besides, their name will only return when their magic shows, which is too late to be useful.”

“What a mess. Why was there no contingency? Why didn’t you make a cure in the advent of our victory?”

“If I am truly honest with you,” he reached for her hands again. “At that point in time, I didn’t truly believe that Potter would prevail.”

Hermione was aghast. “But now we have a whole generation of Muggleborns who have discovered their magic, only now it’s more powerful than when they were children – so they can’t contain it.”

“…hence the explosive behaviour.”

“We need to do something.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” 

Hermione looked at him sadly. “I wish you’d confided in me. We could’ve worked together, we could’ve-”

“I was too proud. I didn’t want to admit to my sins – certainly not to any of those Ministry upstarts they kept pairing me with. I just wanted to make amends for the mess, and then put it behind me. Only, it took longer than I ever imagined.” He sighed loudly. “And then you swept into my life, and by the time I thought about telling you…”

“You really thought about it?”

He nodded. “But I was too ashamed. You said it yourself – if this had occurred in the first war, you would be amongst their number.”

“…Severus, the man that you were-”

“Don’t.”

“The Death Eater who bore your name,” she continued seriously, “is not the Severus Snape I have come to know.”

He stared at her, not quite daring to believe her words.

“If I didn’t think you were a good man,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have let things get as far as they did, and I certainly wouldn’t be here now.”

“Believe me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “when I say that I did not intend to hurt you.”

“I believe you. I saw what I wanted to see.” Her smile was forced. “I shouldn’t have assumed that you intended to date me.”

He gave a horrible laugh – a short, strangled sound that emerged from the back of his throat. “Oh, I intended to date you. I intended to have you in every way I could.” 

She flushed crimson at his words. “Then what changed?”

He stared at the ceiling for what felt to Hermione like forever. Eventually, he stood and their hands still clasped together, he gestured for her to join him. She stood, and he pressed his forehead to hers. “Not here,” he whispered. 

“Then where?”

“With me,” he whispered, pulling her close to him and opening the door to the dining room.

Ginny and Harry were stood outside, and watched solemnly as Snape nodded curtly to them, and whisked Hermione down the hallway. Ginny grabbed Hermione’s hand as she passed, and stared her straight in the eye. 

“I’m ok,” Hermione mouthed, and Ginny gave a silent flick of her wand, indicating that Hermione should send her patronus if she required assistance. Hermione nodded, understanding the message, and a second later, a loud crack of Disapparation rang through the house.

“Bloody hell. I’ve never heard him Disapparate that loudly,” Ron said, wiggling his finger in his ear. “Is he still drunk?”

“He’s completely out of his mind, if you ask me,” muttered Harry, locking the door behind them. 

“Do you think we should leave them to it?” Ron asked, frowning. “I don’t like to think of her with the git, and certainly not a drunk, out-of-his-mind git.”

Harry looked over at Ginny, who nodded. “She knows him better than anyone,” he said, steering James and Albus away from the front door. “And she’s the smartest witch I know. If she didn’t want to be with him, she wouldn’t have left. Now, boys, who wants trifle?”

“Me!” yelled Ron, causing Albus and James to burst into high pitched laughter.

* * *

“It’s boiling in here!”

Snape gave a soft laugh, and cast a cooling charm around his living room. He shrugged his cloak off and held his hand out for Hermione’s. “Potter,” he explained. “Potters, even. It was freezing until they turned up.”

“Ginny and Harry came to see if you were okay?”

“They were worried about you,” he said, dismissively, whilst casting protections onto the door and shutting the curtains. “You have good friends.”

“And you don’t?”

“To my knowledge, Lucius has never turned up at a witch’s house and berated her for treating me poorly.”

“Has any woman ever treated you poorly?”

He gave a laugh, and rubbed his hands over his face. “I am definitely doing this incorrectly if we are stood here talking about my past indiscretions.” Snape caught her hands in his own. “If I do this,” he said, seriously, “it’s for your ears only. Not Potter’s – either of them. And certainly not Ronald’s.”

“Of course.”

He summoned the bottle of firewhisky and two glasses from the kitchen and poured a measure into each. He indicated that she should sit in his usual armchair, whilst he settled himself on the floor. “I understand if you do not want any,” he said, as he passed the glass over, “but I fear I cannot do this without some courage.” He slugged the drink back, and poured another measure.

“You don’t need to-”

“We’re done, aren’t we?” he interrupted. “After I left last night? We’re finished?”

After a long moment, Hermione nodded. “I couldn’t see a way back for us.”

“Couldn’t? Not can’t?” He sipped at his drink, watching for her eventual nod. 

“Maybe,” she said, softly.

“Merlin, Hermione, I do not want this to end in this way.” He laughed, and ran his hand through his increasingly greasy hair. “I do not want this to fucking end at all.” 

“I don’t think we even managed to get started,” she said, gently.

He took a deep breath, and placed his drink on the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. “You needed to see this place,” he started.

“Severus, I don’t care where you come from.”

“It’s not that I’m ashamed,” he said, giving a sardonic laugh. “I overcame that inferiority complex years ago.” He looked at her imploringly. “Can you feel it?”

Confused, she slowly shook her head.

“I feel it. To me, it’s steeped in the walls. The anger, the misery. The violence.” He swallowed hard. “And there are times when it rises up in me. When I think about the man he was,” he virtually spat the words, “and the man I have become. I look in the mirror, Hermione, and I see his eyes staring back at me.”

“You are not…” Hermione waved her hand. “Whatever sort of man your father was, you are not him.”

“Maybe,” Snape said, lifting his glass to his lips. “Maybe not. I never want to find out.” 

“You’re what? Fifty something? And you don’t already know?”

His nostrils flared, and he stared at his feet. “If we did this. Us. You and me. It’s the real thing, isn’t it?”

A frown crossed Hermione’s face, and she sank to the floor, sitting opposite him, taking his hands in her own. “What do you mean?”

“I am not a frivolous man, Hermione,” he said, accepting her touch, but refusing to look up. “I think we are cut from similar cloth. I am not interested in just having a fling with you.”

Hermione nodded. “But you shouldn’t put so much pressure on yourself. You might find you can’t stand my snoring, or I find your taste in music entirely off-putting.”

To her surprise, his chest rose and fell in a short, shallow laugh. “Those trivialities aside,” he pressed, “this would be a serious proposition for us both?”

Again, Hermione nodded.

“And that means marriage, and children, and-”

Hermione shook her head, and gripped his hands more firmly. “You’re getting too far ahead of yourself,” she said. “Who says we have to marry? Who says that either of us wants children?”

At this, his head snapped up. “You don’t want children?”

Hermione’s frown grew ever deeper as she leant forward, and brushed a lank piece of hair from his face. “Do you?”

He froze momentarily. “At one time. Perhaps.”

“But now?”

“I asked you first.”

Hermione traced his jaw with her fingers. “They are not a priority. One day.” She smiled gently. “Perhaps.”

He gave another short laugh. “Then that is the day you should pack your bags and leave.”

“Severus!” Hermione bit back a huff of exasperation. “You bring me here to explain, and then you talk to me in riddles, marry us off before we’ve even kissed, and then foretell my leaving. You are currently leading Trelawney in the ‘talking utter drivel’ stakes, and you are about to win the cup.” She gently pressed her lips to his frowning forehead. “Why don’t we just start slowly, and take things as they come?”

“If we had children,” he said, softly, “I fear I would be my father.” He gripped her hands. “If I showed any sign, you must take them and run. To the Potters. Or any of the eight hundred Weasleys. Even to the Malfoys. They would all look after you.” He stared at her imploringly. “Do you promise?”

“You’re worrying about nothing,” she said, ghosting another kiss against his forehead. “But if it makes you feel better…”

“It would.”

“Then, I promise.”

He nodded sharply. “And if you wanted children and I could not provide?”

“Imaginary offspring are not the reason why I’m interested in you.”

His voice lowered again. “It is possible that I might not be able to sire a child of my own.” His dark eyes met her own. “The anti-venin,” he added by way of explanation. 

“Of course. It works as a contraceptive.”

“Indeed. That beast’s poison riddled my body,” he admitted. “I cannot function without it. I tried. Several times.” 

Hermione looked stunned as the realisation hit. “You were suddenly sick a few times over the last few weeks. You stopped taking it, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I wanted to know for certain before we embarked on,” he waved his hand, “whatever this mess I’ve made of things is. I didn’t want to mislead you. I wanted to know so I could tell you one way or another, and let you make a choice before we became too serious.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because that evening was wonderful,” he said, wrapping his fingers in her own. “And I let myself get carried away. What man wouldn’t? You’re clever, you’re talented, you’re beautiful-”

“Hardly!”

He gave her fingers a squeeze. “You know I’m telling you the truth. But I messed it up. I drank too much, I talked too much, I touched too much-”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

“-and I knew if I stayed seated whilst the credits rolled and you’d turned in my arms, we’d have woken up together in the morning. At that point, I had very little self-control left.”

“So you decided to flay me with your clever caustic comment.”

He winced. “It was deliberate, but not genuine. Call it an act of self-sabotage,” he said. “I’m really rather well versed in it.”

“If you ever treat me like that again-”

He nodded. “I deserve every inch of your fury.”

“You baffle me, Severus,” she said, brushing another lock of his dark hair from before his eyes. “One of the bravest wizards to fight in the war, and yet you’d rather walk away from a potential relationship than have what you assume will be a difficult discussion. Am I that terrifying?”

“A difficult discussion is somewhat underplaying it,” he said, softly. “I’d be telling my new girlfriend on Christmas Day that we could never have children together. All through my childhood, I was made brutally aware that I was a crushing disappointment to my parents – particularly my father. At Hogwarts, I was a disappointment to Lily, who couldn’t understand why I behaved so…awkwardly.” He took a deep breath. “And the night I defected, Dumbledore viewed me with such disgust – he was so appalled at the path I’d taken…”

“You couldn’t bear to witness my crushing disappointment when you finally confessed?”

He nodded.

Hermione pounced on him, pressing her mouth firmly against his own. “You,” she said, between kisses, “are the biggest dunderhead that I have ever met.” 

“And this from the woman who counts Neville Longbottom as one of her friends,” he drawled, smiling into her kiss. Then, he gently pushed her away. “Hermione?”

She huffed, and rested her head against his shoulder. “If after all this, you’re about to let me down again…”

“I just…” he gently tangled his long fingers in her hair. “Whilst I’m drunk enough to be honest, you need to understand that I can’t make any promises about the future.”

“You’re a rubbish romantic, Severus,” she deadpanned, with a mischievous grin adorning her face. “I can see why those other women left you, and why Lucius didn’t feel moved to fight your corner when they did.”

“That was uncalled for,” he murmured, reaching up to kiss her gently. “There were hardly scores of women and secondly, I was just sayi-”

“Shhh.” She placed her finger against his lips, preventing him from speaking. “One step at a time, that’s all we’re aiming for,” she said, sinking into his warm embrace. “One step at a time.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I understand.”

“Is that it, Severus?”

He shrugged. 

He’d always been difficult. He had been a skittish child, and a distrustful teenager – and he hadn’t shown much improvement when he’d returned as a young teacher. At first, he was cautious and cold, but as the years went by, he’d mellowed and settled into an easy and comforting routine with his fellow staff members.

At one time, McGonagall had been proud to quietly acknowledge him as not just a colleague, but also a friend. He was hardly one for grand statements, or long discussions about his innermost feelings – but the two shared a similar outlook, and often grumbled about the students to each other, and bickered good humouredly about their house rivalry.

When Dumbledore died, she lost two men in the same moment – the Headmaster, who died, and his successor, who might as well have. Whilst Snape was Headmaster, Minerva woke in the morning, cleaned her teeth and prayed fervently that Snape would die. Within 12 months, she was waking in the morning, and praying that he would live.

Not that he would’ve believed it. During that hateful year, Minerva couldn’t bear to look at him, much less speak to him. She stiffened in his presence, and allowed revulsion to cover her features whenever she sensed he was near. He refused to break under the pressure that the teachers put him under, which only caused Minerva to double her efforts.

Those brief moments of triumph sustained her through the long year.

Those same moments haunted her ever since.

She was fiercely defensive of the man whilst he was comatose, and even more so once he was recuperating. She courted the press and lobbied the Ministry, intending to pave his return to wizarding society. Of an evening, she could be found by his bedside, talking him through the developments in the wizarding world, and indulging him by asking his opinion on matters pertaining to Hogwarts.

He knew she was humouring him, but for the first time in his life, he found he didn’t mind.

It had been a difficult road back for their friendship. She felt embarrassed and ridiculous at the memory of her actions during that year. He felt a deep sense of sickness and shame about his. But the two persevered, and they forged a new friendship, based on an understanding that some things were never to be raised, never to be discussed.

All of which added to Minerva’s sadness. She had always known him to be awkward, and challenging – and so, it had been no surprise when years later, he suddenly summoned her to the bowels of the Ministry to hear his fears of the potential charges that could be laid against him. 

“Do you wish to offer any comment?” She took one look at the stern man and narrowed her eyes further. “Any _helpful_ comment,” she clarified.

Snape sniffed, and turned away.

She threw the parchment on the table. “I thought you were aware of the severity of these charges.”

“Why do you think I requested your assistance?” He shifted uncomfortably. 

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“I do not require a miracle.”

McGonagall removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Severus, I rather think you do. This is…”

“A lost cause? Yes, I was rather under that impression.”

“I wouldn’t say a lost cause, per se. It’s certainly not hopeful,” she admitted. “I think the best we can ask for is some sort of medical discharge.”

“I’m not incapacitated. No medic would find me unfit for work.”

“I could ask Poppy.”

“No! I will not have Poppy lie under oath for me.”

“Severus, it is not an unreasonable request. After what you’ve been through, most wizards woul-”

“I am not most…” The words died on his lips. “I have no wish to be pitied.”

“I fear that a stint in Azkaban will ensure that you most certainly are. The Prophet will mourn you as a fallen hero.”

“Don’t.”

“Severus, it seems to be really rather simple. Your options are either to present your work-”

“Impossible.”

“-or to apply for a discharge on medical grounds-”

“Absolutely not.”

McGonagall threw her hands up in disbelief. “Then I shall be visiting you in Azkaban!” She stared him down. “I am afraid I can see no other way out of this.” She shuffled the papers, and stood. “Frankly, Severus, I cannot fathom why you would not simply present your work. You forget that I mentored you for many years.”

“My memory does not my fail me.”

“Then you know that I am fully aware of your working style.” She gave a half-smile. “Now, your bedside manner, that could do with some improvement-”

“Minerva.”

“-but I am certain your work ethic has not deserted you.” She leant down, invading his space. “Either sign off sick, or present your work.” She straightened back up. “I can’t see you go to Azkaban.”

* * *

  
Hermione dug out the dress that had languished in the back of the wardrobe, and its accompanying underwear. 

“Still good?” she asked, holding it up for Ginny to see.

“Still good,” Ginny affirmed. “So, tonight’s the night? I can’t believe that after all these months dancing around each other, he’s made you wait.”

Hermione laughed as she laid the clothes out on her immaculate bedspread. “He didn’t make me wait. He had a few things to sort out this week, and he just…suggested it would be a fun way to see in the New Year.”

“I bet he’s good at just suggesting things.” Ginny gave a wicked smile. “I bet he was too drunk on Christmas Day. He looked like he’d been drinking for two days straight.”

“He had. We both had. We were overtired, and very drunk,” Hermione admitted. “We didn’t even make it up the stairs – I just lay in his arms on the floor.”

“Sounds comfortable.”

“I had a crick in my neck for a week.” She gave a broad smile. “I can’t imagine how Severus must’ve felt.”

“If he’s got any sense,” Ginny mused, “he should be the happiest wizard in England, creaky joints and pulled muscles be damned.” She cast her eye over Hermione’s outfit, and then the bedroom with its fresh flowers and clean bedding. “Your place, I take it, and not his?”

“Not his.”

“You don’t mind?”

Hermione paused, not wanting to give away his secrets. “He inherited his house, and I think he sleeps in his childhood bedroom,” she said, thinking quickly. “The double bed would be-”

“His parents’,” Ginny quickly filled in. “Grim. Yours it is. At least you know you’re not the latest in a long line of conquests at his home.” She stood, and gave Hermione a quick hug. “Enjoy yourself,” she said. “And don’t put too much pressure on yourself – it’s the first of many, right?”

“Right,” Hermione agreed, hugging Ginny back tightly. 

* * *

  
“Severus? This is most irregular.” 

“I apologise, Minister,” Snape said, giving a slight bow towards Kingsley. “I would not have disturbed you had it not been most urgent.” 

“I would not have indulged such a request from most wizards.” He narrowed his eyes. “Not during the festive period, and most certainly not at this hour. You do recall that you are not supposed to be working?”

“I was merely collecting some papers.”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “For your submission?”

Snape gave a curt nod.

“Your submission date is next week,” Kingsley said. “You may, of course, make some refinements, but the bulk of the work should already have been completed.” He eyed Snape curiously. “The Ministry intends that its workers are well rested, and that means time away from the workplace. You are not expected to be back in the office until the second week in January.” 

Snape’s scowl deepened. “As I said, I was mere-”

Kingsley met his gaze, his voice threatening. “Unless this is yet another rule that you have decided to overlook?”

Snape ignored his criticism and handed over a file full of papers, and a potion. 

“What’s this?”

“The case Potter is working on,” Snape said. “It’s the solution.”

Kingsley stared at Snape, hardly believing what he was holding. “What are you telling me, Severus? Have you done this?”

Snape gave a sharp shake of the head. “Granger.”

“You have visited me tonight to submit Hermione Granger’s research a week before the deadline?”

“It needs to be distributed as soon as possible.” 

“You mean…?” Kingsley was stunned. “This will cure-”

“It won’t cure,” Snape quickly added. “It’s a further suppressant.”

“A further suppressant? What are you suggesting? That these Muggles are not Muggles at all?”

“It’s explained in the papers, Minister,” Snape said, unwilling to discuss it further. “This potion, I believe, will cause the magic in the Muggle’s system to remain dormant. I would recommend-”

“You recommend, or Hermione recommends?”

“Hermione,” he said, sharply. He fiddled with his cuffs. “Hermione would recommend that these instances of magical ability should be declared as being a symptom of,” he waved his hand. “I’m sure you can come up with a suitable Latin based name for the illness. Once magical ability is shown, this should be prescribed as the medicine. The magical ability will, once again, be suppressed.”

Kingsley held the potion up to the light. “I am to understand that this is Hermione’s work, and Hermione’s work alone?”

“Yes, Minister.”

Kingsley stared at Snape. “And I am therefore to assume that you alone have been working on a case from the handbook to fulfil your department’s mandate?”

“Yes, Minister.”

Kingsley did not break eye contact with Snape. “Then I will expect your submission next week?”

“You are to expect it, Minister.”

* * *

  
It had been well over a year since she’d slept with another through the night, but over the past week, she’d found Snape’s presence in her bed a comfort rather than an annoyance. Ever since her months on the run with Harry and Ron, living on their wits and in constant fear, Hermione had developed the habit of waking several times in the night. Even though Snape was now lying next to her, she couldn’t break the habit, and last night, she’d spent half an hour watching him sleep, quite taken aback by how much younger he looked when he didn’t seem to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This had been their final night of the holidays, and after a week spent with just each other for company, it was back to reality at the Ministry. She felt more restless than usual, concerned about how they were going to submit their work, but Snape had refused to talk about it, reassuring her that it’d all work out. Consequently, she’d slept fitfully and woken more times in the night than ever. To her surprise, each time when she’d woken, Snape’s eyes were open and staring intently at her. As soon as she woke, he silently snaked his arm around her naked body, pulling her closer to him, the soft pads of his fingers drawing languid patterns on her skin to soothe her. Each time, she fell back to sleep within minutes.

Hermione had pressed snooze on the alarm five times before she realised how late it was. She kissed Snape tenderly before reluctantly slipping out of his embrace to silence the alarm. “You look shattered,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep at all?”

He gave her a lazy smile. “I was perfectly content with my night.” He pulled her back, and kissed her again, softly, and then more insistently, framing her face with his hands.

“We’re already late for work,” she sighed. “We’ll be really late for work if we continue this.” 

She watched as a smirk spread across his face. “We could ring in sick?”

“You’re a terrible influence,” she said, with a broad grin, and kissed his chest as she moved off the bed. She bent over to gather some clean underwear from the dresser drawer. 

“Is that a post owl tapping?”

“I haven’t got time for your transparent stalling,” she laughed. “I’m going to have a shower. You should do the same, else you’ll be late.”

“I don’t think I can be trusted to behave if I joined you.” He reached for his shirt, which he’d discarded on the floor the previous evening. “I’ll head home and shower there.” He dragged his shirt over his head, pausing half way as she danced back over the room for a final kiss. He kissed her so passionately, it was as if he wanted the moment to never end. 

* * *

  
She barrelled into the Ministry, two coffee cups in hand. She knew that as a general rule, her boyfriend – she couldn’t help gleefully screaming the word in her head – drank tea, but given that they were awake most of the night, she felt he’d be appreciative of the caffeine.

The door to their workspace swung open, and she was confused. The wall had been torn down, and the room was a whole. She hadn’t expected such strides from Severus, expecting that he’d keep their work life separate – interspersed with many cups of tea – and their home life private. Then, she saw the figure in the corner.

“Can I help you?” she ventured, placing the two coffees on her desk.

“Amazing work,” the tall woman said, walking over to Hermione, and clasping her hands in a double handshake. “I am in awe.”

“I’m sorry. You are?”

“Johnson,” the woman said, shaking Hermione’s hand firmly. “Martha Johnson. Harry Potter always speaks so highly of you, and to be frank, with the strides you’ve made this year, I can see why.”

“I am terribly sorry to be rude,” Hermione said, pulling her hand away. “Whilst it’s very nice to meet you, could you explain what’s going on? Where’s Severus?”

Martha tensed. “He’s been…reassigned, I believe. I’m not his replacement,” she said, putting her hands up in a show of mock defence. “Jacobs is. I’m you.”

“You’re me?” 

“Word is, you’re about to be promoted to the Death Chamber,” she said. “I don’t envy you. Creeps me out in there.”

“And which department has Severus gone to?” Hermione asked, desperately trying to keep her voice light whilst her blood ran cold. “I need to see him about some final paperwork.”

“I don’t know,” said Martha, a crease appearing in her forehead. “I saw him in the atrium, and the aurors whisked him off to see Kingsley.” She shrugged. “Seems funny they haven’t spoken to the two of you already. My re-assignment papers were in the post.”

“I didn’t hear the owl,” Hermione said, her voice small.

* * *

“Harry!”

Harry stopped and turned, and as soon as he saw Hermione, a huge grin covered his face. He strode to meet her and grabbed her in his arms. “I knew you were a genius! I see a promotion in your future!”

“Where’s Severus?”

Harry’s grin slipped, taken aback by her serious expression. “I thought Ginny said he was staying with you?” He grimaced slightly. “She said something about you spending all week in bed. Don’t tell me he’s ruined things already?”

“No, we’re fine. We were running late this morning, so he went to his home to shower, and now the office has changed, and Johnson said the aurors took him to Kingsley, and he’s not answering my patronus-”

“Hermione, stop,” Harry said, flicking his wand and casting his patronus. “Don’t fret – if he’s with Kingsley, we’ll find him.”

“But why would the aurors take him?”

“Come on,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and propelling her down the corridor. “We’ll go and find out.” He gave her arm a tight squeeze. “I’m surprised Kingsley hasn’t called for you himself – St Mungos is stretched to capacity trying to replicate your potion. There’s some amazing techniques in it – it’s really testing them.”

Hermione looked shell-shocked. “My potion?”

“As if it wasn’t enough to solve the case,” Harry said, as they entered the lift, “but to find a cure as well!” He misinterpreted the confused look on Hermione’s face. “Sorry, I know, I know – it’s not a cure! But a suppressant is better than nothing... I mean, yes, I still think it’s devastating that they didn’t get chance to be part of the magical world, but now that they’re in the Muggle world and they’ve got lives, and friends, and families, it’d be harder to rip them from it and there’s no way to teach them as adults, so in lots of ways, it’s fairer-”

“Harry, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. What suppressant?”

Harry frowned, and pressed another button on the lift causing it to stop earlier than initially planned. He bundled Hermione out, and walked with her to his office. Once inside, he indicated to the papers spread across his desk. “They’re just copies of what you submitted,” he said.

Hermione picked up the papers with a frown – some of the work she recognised, but some of it was a mystery. Her pages were handwritten, whilst the rest were penned in handwriting she didn’t recognise. She held the papers close to her face, and frowned at the type. “It looks like the work of a self-writing quill,” she murmured. She peered intently at the methodology for the suppressant, and almost let out a gasp. “You don’t honestly think I could make this, do you, Harry?” she said, waving the page at him. “Look at the techniques.”

“I thought you’d been learning off your boyfriend,” Harry shrugged. “You said that you were sharing knowledge, even if you weren’t explicitly working together on the same project.”

“It turns out that we _were_ working on the same project,” Hermione said, her voice low. “He’s submitted his work and my work together.” She looked horrified. “And that’s why the aurors took him to Kingsley.”

* * *

“You see my dilemma,” Kingsley said, his arms folded. “I’ve got Severus insisting that you did the work, and now you’re in here saying that he did the work.”

“They’re both right,” Harry interjected, causing Kingsley and Hermione to look over at him. He shrugged. “In a way. They worked together.”

“Impossible,” Kingsley said, his eyes narrowing. “Nobody has ever successfully worked with Snape. Philpot, Blythton, Gates, Jones-Smyth, Fletcher, Davidson, Croaker…” He flung his arms out. “And they’re the ones who managed more than six months with him! I’ve got another list as long as my arm of witches and wizards who didn’t manage more than a week!” He sighed. “I know it’s difficult, Hermione, to see someone of Severus’ standing fall from-”

“I’m not doing this out of pity.”

“I was going to suggest it was a misguided sense of honour,” Kingsley said, quietly. “I know he was a war hero, Hermione, but he’s really not worth your career. I learnt that the hard way.” He flipped open a thick tome, and placed his wand on the open page. The pages rapidly sped by until he reached the entry he was looking for. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get him here instead of Azkaban. I begged and cajoled. I stood before the Ministry and pointed out his talents, and his skills, and his intelligence. I asked them why they wanted to see him rot in Azkaban, when instead, we could utilise him.”

Hermione gave a small shake of her head. “But-”

“Look!” Kingsley said, passing the book over. “He hasn’t submitted a thing. He relies on his colleagues to carry him.”

“Are you saying you regret keeping him from Azkaban, Minister?”

Kingsley looked uncomfortable. “I think Severus did not deserve a custodial sentence. I gave him a chance to evade such a scenario. It is perhaps a pity that his talents have gone to waste.”

“And a pity that the Ministry could not reap its reward?” she challenged. “I wouldn’t blame him if he hadn’t done a day’s work in here,” she said, angrily. “Did it not occur to you that he’d been used and manipulated enough in the war? Did it not occur to you that we’ve all had enough of the Ministry’s machinations?”

Harry shifted nervously. “He’s tougher than that, Hermione. We all are. It’s just how this place works. For the-”

Hermione turned, furious. “Don’t you dare say it, Harry.”

“Hermione has a point,” Kingsley said quickly, attempting to defuse the situation. “I just thought it better that he be useful-”

“He was working on this project all along,” Hermione interrupted. “Didn’t it occur to you that it wouldn’t have been possible to create such a complicated potion in the short time that I was working on the case?” She thrust the methodology under Kingsley’s nose. “Does that look like something that I, or Harry, or you could create? Or does it look like something that would require decades of experience? Say, for example-”

“Hermione,” Harry warned, catching Kingsley’s furious expression.

“-an ex-Potions teacher? Or someone with a Potions Mastery, perhaps?”

“Enough,” Kingsley said, discarding the paper. “I take your point, Hermione, but you cannot convince me that Severus has spent his entire time in the Department working on this case. It only came to light in the last couple of years.”

“I can prove it. Categorically. May I use your Floo?” At Kingsley’s quick nod of agreement, she headed for her own home and was back within moments. “Here,” she said, passing him a piece of parchment as she dusted off her robes. “You were right, Minister. Severus was difficult to work with,” she said. “He was rude and obstructive, and more than once, I wondered about my future in the Ministry. But we came to an understanding, and when he realised that we’d both been working on the same project, he came clean. If you read my notes, you’ll understand that he’s been working on the suppressant for years. My working on the project is…coincidence.”

“If he knew this all along…” Kingsley read the parchment, and looked aghast. “Why didn’t he say something?”

“Because he feared he’d be thrown in Azkaban,” Hermione said, her voice cold. “And as I am to assume that he is currently there now…” She stared at Kingsley, who looked mildly abashed. “I thought so.”

“He breached his bail conditions, Hermione. My hands were tied. The Wizengamot-”

“It was because of the Wizengamot that he didn’t say anything! He didn’t really care about being thrown in Azkaban, but he did care about dragging everyone who vouched for him down with him. He didn’t think that you would want the adjoining cell!”

She tapped the papers on the desk with her wand, and the letters on the page changed. “The submission and the patent is now, rightly, under Severus’ name.”

“Hermione, don’t!” Harry looked aghast. “You’ve worked for years-”

“So did Severus,” she said, staring Kingsley in the eye. “I quit.”

* * *

“Terrible, meddlesome, interfering know-it-all-”

She kissed him, and stopped him in his tracks. “Intelligent and brave, you might be,” she said, “but you’re completely insufferable. At which point did you think I was going to accept that you were going to spend the next few years in Azkaban?”

Snape looked chastened. “I didn’t want you to quit. Your friends were right – you were destined for Minister someday.”

“Seeing how it’s changed Kingsley, I wouldn’t want it.”

Snape ran his fingers through her hair. “Don’t be too hard on him. I hardly helped myself. I left him with few options.” He twisted her hair loosely, and pulled her towards him for a kiss. “It seems with your move with the patent, you left him with few options yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “People talk about how you should’ve been in Ravenclaw, but I think in a different time, you’d have flourished in Slytherin.”

She laughed. “I couldn’t believe you hadn’t patented the potion. Novice.”

“I was making amends, remember,” he said. “I wanted the potion to be used, not to cost a fortune and be out of reach. If the NHS couldn’t afford it, the Muggles would go without.” He trailed a light finger down her cheek. “It was a clever move, but I don’t want to charge for it.”

“Ah, but this was for a war crime.”

“So?”

“The Ministry foots the bill for any treatments required by Muggles due to magical war crimes,” she replied.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do they really? Sounds like that fast-track course you were doing was pretty useful.”

“So it was,” she murmured, pulling him onto the sofa. 

“No regrets?”

She shook her head. “I was already furious over the incident with Urquhart. This was the final straw. I don’t want to be part of a corrupt process.” She lay comfortably in his arms, facing him. “So what are you going to do with your newfound wealth?”

The broad smile that she couldn’t get enough of crossed his features, and lit up his eyes. “I was thinking of setting up a small business,” he said. “A small side-concern. No pressures, no deadlines.”

“Doing what?”

“Inventing things,” he said, softly. “Potions. Spells maybe.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, kissing her gently. “I need a partner.”

She smiled. “Well, I need a job.”

“Do you really?” he murmured. “Well, isn’t this convenient?”

“What are we working on first?”

“I’ve been thinking about the suppressant, and how it could be used to help Halfblood kids.”

Hermione sat up, propping herself up on her elbow, and stroking a hand over his now furrowed brow. “Yes?”

“My parents might have been happy,” he said, “if there was something like this out there. All I know is that Mum hid her magic from Dad, and she lived as a Muggle. She used to twist her wedding ring around on her finger, and tell me that those early days were a dream.”

“But then he found out?”

“She had me.” He swallowed hard. “And as you know, magical kids do strange things. Things that couldn’t be explained. To say he didn’t cope would be an understatement.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“She bore the brunt of his anger,” he said, his voice small. “I thought I could reduce the dose, then a magical parent who was in difficulty – they could dose the child. Stop the magic from manifesting.”

“Without any permanent side effects?”

He nodded. “I think so. Then, when it’s time to go to Hogwarts, the magical parent could say it was a scholarship, or something, without explaining fully. The other parent wouldn’t ever have to know.” He looked uncomfortable. “I know it’s not the foundation for a relationship but… I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around him. “It wouldn’t be for everyone, but I think it might have a place. I remember Seamus saying it was a shock in his family.” She gave a small smile. “It was definitely a shock in mine. Maybe Muggleborns could be told sooner. Maybe they could be dosed until it was time for them to join the wizarding world.”

His head snapped up. “When their name first appears in the book?”

She nodded solemnly. “If my parents had been told, and I’d been given something to stop the outbursts…” She looked at him sadly. “Maybe I’d have had a few friends growing up. I’d always felt ostracised by both worlds – a freak to the Muggles, and the wizarding world labelled me a Mudblood-”

“Don’t!”

“…I don’t fit in anywhere, really.” 

He entangled his fingers in her own, and kissed her soundly. “You fit right here with me.” 

She smiled, and kissed him back. “I wish my parents could’ve met you.”

A frown flitted across his face, and it suddenly dawned on him that Hermione had fled to Harry and Ginny at Christmas, and she hadn’t once mentioned her parents. “Did they disown you?” he asked, gently. “Because of magic?”

Hermione scrunched her face up, trying not to cry. “I hid them.” She pressed her face against his chest, and Snape gently cradled her head against his torso. Her voice was muffled as she spoke. “During the war. I thought they would be targets, so I erased myself from their memories, and gave them new identities. I sent them to Australia.”

“And you haven’t tried to get them back?”

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I have tried.” Hermione pulled away from Snape and reached for the locket around her neck. She tapped it with her wand, and it transformed from a plain silver pendant into a tiny jar, which she then enlarged. Snape didn’t have to look at it for long to recognise the familiar swirl of mixed memories. “I can’t get them to go back in. The charm I cast was too powerful. Stupid, really.”

“You were scared.”

“I was over the top,” she said, her lip trembling. “I should’ve realised I’d done enough and reduced the strength of the charm.”

“You were a child in the midst of war,” he said, sternly, holding the jar aloft and peering at it. “To have done this is nothing short of astonishing.” He held her gaze. “You did the right thing. They would’ve been killed.”

“They’re getting on now. I’m running out of time to bring them back, but I’m out of ideas.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll start work on the charm you used,” he said, decisively. “It can be our first project. I’m pretty well versed when it comes to spells of the mind.” He shrunk the jar back down, and she tapped it with her wand. As soon as it was a standard pendant again, he fastened it around her neck. “Just think,” he laughed, dropping a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, “we’ll bring your parents home, just in time for them to disapprove of your ugly old boyfriend.”

“Once they see how happy I am,” Hermione said, taking him by the hand and leading him up the stairs, “I know that they won’t say a word.”

**Author's Note:**

> This evolved into an unashamed mash-up of two prompts – I hope it is suitable:  
> 2 - Severus and Hermione are colleagues, and join forces against the latest Ministry directive.  
> 4 - They are both Unspeakables. Due to someone being ill they have to work together on an assignment, despite mutual protests.


End file.
